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the-blind-assassin-12 · 3 years

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A Bad Option for Close Quarters

PART OF THE VIPER & THE WILD THING COLLECTION

A/N: Hey there, Prince Oberyn party people! Before we get started in this one, I want to say a huge THANK YOU to everyone for all the encouragement and kind things that you had to say after I posted the first part of this collection. I was and still am nervous to take on Oberyn, so reading the comments that you left really made me feel less nervous. You are Great!!

A/N 2: And now I have to talk about serious stuff- this part does have some sensitive material in it that may be difficult for some to read. I don’t normally put big red warning stickers on my work, but this one feels like it warrants it. Please as always read the content warnings and if you are still unsure, know that you can always send me a message to ask specifics.

Warning: language, violence, blood, injury, abuse (physical & sexual in nature) death, NO LIKE ALL THE WARNINGS APPLY. general brothel un-pleasantry.

Word Count: 4.9k

Summary: Oberyn has made it clear that you are his favorite way to pass the time while he is in King’s Landing, and you are perfectly happy with that. But not everyone is.

“‘Bout fuckin’ time.”

You heard him before you saw him, lined up a few heads behind the front of the procession of prostitutes spilling into the brothel’s main chamber, but there was no mistaking his rough voice or the lowborn accent he tried so hard to hide when he spoke in the presence of others. Shit. You had known him long enough to pick him out from a legion of men by sound alone. Or smell.

It was Gannon Yast, a foot soldier in the Lannister army who had saved up his coins for years to purchase his surname from a forger on the black market. Like you, he had been born on the streets of King’s Landing, and like you, he was just another drop in the bay, another bastard bearing the name Waters. But unlike you who knew what you were, Gannon had always been subject to outlandish fantasies and truly believed the lies he told about himself and his upbringing. He had been spinning them in his own mind for so long that by now there was surely an elaborate tapestry depicting the lineage of a House that had never existed.

House Yast. The very thought made you roll your eyes. His sigil could be the pot he bought himself to piss in on a shit brown background.

The penalty for falsifying documents such as the ones that Gannon had illicitly procured ranged from execution to public flogging and time in the dungeons beneath the Red Keep. To him, imprisonment in a cell was no worse than suffering the flea bitten life his birth name chained him to. Since he wasn’t so bold as to impersonate a nobleman, he knew that he wouldn’t lose his head, and to him it was worth the gamble.

You didn’t share his viewpoint. You had heard stories, rumors, about female prisoners and the things that had been done to them at the hands of the Gold Cloaks, and while you had no idea how true they were you were not at all interested in finding out. If you were going to get fucked by Lannister guards and soldiers, you may as well be paid for it. Forged proclamation of respectable provenance wasn’t the only way out of King’s Landing, and you’d also been saving your spare coins, few and far between as they may be, for passage across the Narrow Sea and out of Westeros. Even if it would take you a lifetime to save, you would rather hoard what you could over decades than spend even one night in those dank caverns.

Unless Oberyn actually… You had done your best not to dwell on the offer he had made you to leave the city with him, to live free in the Kingdom of Dorne. He hadn’t mentioned it again though you had been with him several times since. Six. Six times in eleven days. It wasn’t as though you were the only one of Litlefinger’s whores that the Prince and his paramour came to see. The only one he chose every time though. The only one he spent an entire night with. You shook your head and followed Dria, one of the other girls who had been there nearly as long as you had, into the chamber where Gannon and two others were waiting. Even if he truly meant to make good on his offer, his departure from King’s Landing was still weeks away. Anything could happen in that much time. He could make promises to half the whores here about-

The thin curtain separating the hallway from the main reception chamber was still billowing near your ankles when you felt Gannon’s meaty hand close securely around your wrist. He yanked you straight out of line, much to the dismay of the other men in the room, the girls in front of and behind you scrambling out of the way so as not to get tripped up by your sudden departure from the lineup. Biting the inside of your cheek to hide the grimace on your face at the twisting and pinching of your skin beneath his rough fingers, you stumbled into his hold. Shit. From the corner of your eye you saw Dria sneering at you as she draped herself over the shoulder of one of the other infantry men, and you knew it was because she was bitter about how much time you’d been spending with Oberyn and Ellaria while she and the others were left to serve the lesser customers like Gannon and his acquaintances. Jealous witch.

You didn’t have the chance to sling a glare back at her, Gannon spinning you around to catch your chin in his free hand, the other releasing your wrist to grab at your ass. Squeezing both to the point of pain, you let out a small muffled sound as he brought your face close to his own.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t that fuck-drunk prince’s prized little cunt.” His breath reeked of stale ale and whatever the slop stalls were serving up in their brown bowls that week, his clothes and hair soaked in the bodily stench of a soldier who had been away for long months. He drew his lips into a vicious grin, continuing to grope your flesh through the gauzy sash that barely covered you. The stark contrast between his touch and Oberyn’s made your skin crawl and your stomach turn. You knew that the next time you saw the Prince you’d likely be riddled in bruises and marks left behind by Gannon’s greedy grip and forceful fingers. What will he think of that?

Your mind provided a quick answer, the way he had looked at you when you told him how you ended up working as a whore in King’s Landing flashing in your memory, his eyes filling with pain, anger and dark fire. He won’t like it. At all.

Dria’s shrill laughter met your ear as the man she’d been pawing at picked her up and brought her into one of the private pleasure chambers, the door slamming behind them. The third man in the room seemed happy enough where he was, two of the remaining girls already stripping each other of their sashes and teasing him with the perfumed fabric. Those unselected by the men were already shuffling back down the hall, waiting to be called when the next batch of customers arrived. You longed to join them even if it meant forgoing pay for the afternoon, but wishful thinking wouldn’t get you out of this.

Nothing could.

You’d been anticipating this encounter since you caught word that the Lannisters were bolstering security around the city leading up to the Royal Wedding. You knew that meant low ranking soldiers like Gannon would be flooding the inns and brothels. The fact that Oberyn had been monopolizing you, keeping you from giving Gannon the homecoming he clearly thought he was entitled to only exacerbated the man’s jealous anger, his lack of patience, his belief that he was owed things from you and your body.

The man who was currently claiming as much of you as his fingers and thumbs could fit between them broke through your thoughts, continuing to snarl his displeasure over your recent unavailability. “You had me settle for scraps while you fucked that southern shit,” he snarled, spit flying from his lips to land on your cheek. “Every time I came looking for this,” the hand that had been squeezing your ass slipped between your legs as though you of all people needed him to explain why he was in a brothel. You winced, every last fiber of your being trying to recoil from him and finding nowhere to go. “Every fucking time, you were in that room bouncing on that peacock’s prick.” He turned you roughly towards the room that you had utilized several times with Oberyn on his visits and shoved you towards it. “I could hear you in there. You made me fuck scraps while I listened to that and-”

“I didn’t make you fuck anything, Gannon.” Knowing that you were only making him angrier in your struggle didn’t stop you, and even though he was twice your strength you did what you could to resist the way that he was steering you into the private chamber. “It isn’t my fault that you have to buy time in bed with a woman because no one who wasn’t forced to fuck you ever would.” You bit your words at him only because his flesh was too far from your teeth. “It isn’t my fault that-”

He timed his backhand with the slamming of the door that he had just pushed you through, releasing his grip and driving the knuckles of his right hand across your face so that you fell hard to the stone floor. Your knees and palms made blunt contact and you knew that as soon as the white hot ache tearing through your skull subsided, pain would erupt over those areas too. Fuck. Letting out a small groan, you tried to crawl away if only just to turn back towards him to see the next blow coming, one scuffed and scraped palm coming up to your already swelling cheek. You could feel warm blood pooling in the shallow cut there, saw a drop fall to the floor as you inched yourself closer to the wall, and though you knew it was likely that he would hit you again, while your body throbbed with the raw, abusive way he was handling you, you didn’t regret saying what you did.

Gannon Waters was a pile of shit in the gutter, and no forger could change that no matter how fancy the calligraphy on the falsified lineage documents looked. He was foul and filthy and that had nothing to do with which surname he paid for. He was a rotten being and it had nothing to do with where he was born or how many golden coins he could rub together, and suddenly you couldn’t bear to keep those opinions from leaping from your tongue. Not when you’d seen and known better men well before you ever even met Oberyn. The men you served were not always like Gannon, seeking only to assert dominance and demean the unlucky prostitute who didn't feel quite as unlucky until he put his hands on them. Not all of them were despicable and suddenly you had reached a threshold for what you were willing to accept without at least letting loose your venomous feelings, consequences be damned.

Before you could get too far though, you felt his tight grip wrap around your ankle to yank you back towards him, your knees both hitting the floor again as he did. You let out another involuntary cry, trying in vain to kick free of his grasp, aiming for his chin if at all possible. He thwarted your attempts with another hard pull, dragging you closer so that he could hold himself above you, trapping you between his limbs with one hand pressed firmly over your mouth. “You’re going to regret the day you turned me down, you little cunt.” He seethed as he tore at the sash that somehow still covered your lower half as he dropped his heavy weight on you, the hilt of the sword he still wore and the buckle of his belt scraping at your skin to leave indents. “You could have been my wife, could have had a name, but you wanted to be whore, and I am going to make you regret that choice no matter how many times you fuck that Dornish dog. I’m going to make you regret that until the day that you die, do you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

It was Oberyn’s voice that you heard next, and at first you thought it was just a trick that your mind was playing on you, dizzy from the strike and the fall, wishful thoughts sweeping in to carry you away from consciousness. What? How is..?

The dangerous vibration in Gannon’s voice, the unhinged way that his eyes were twitching, the crushing grip he had on you, all of it made your world shrink to just those things, just what you could see and feel and hear. Which meant that you hadn’t noticed the door bursting open, hadn’t heard the shouts or the hurried footsteps of two figures as they rushed inside, hadn’t fully registered what was happening as Gannon was hoisted off of you and slammed into the hardwood table that stood in the center of the room. Someone was pulling you to your feet, wrapping a pair of warm arms around you, murmuring your name and pleading with you to look at them.

Shaking in shock, you managed to turn your head and focus your eyes, blinking them furiously to force the room to stop spinning. Ellaria? As soon as you recognized the woman you let yourself collapse into her, feeling as she let out a sigh and strengthened her hold on you to keep you on your feet. “You’re alright now.” She spoke softly in your ear as she led you closer to the small table beside the bed where a wash bin and cloth had been set out. “Come here.” Without letting go of you, she reached for the white cloth and dipped it in the cool water before bringing it up to your cheek, the soothing relief of the soft fabric instant as she gently pressed it there. She continued to hush and soothe you, letting you lean into her, and more quickly than you would have thought possible you felt your breathing return to normal, the adrenaline still pounding behind your eyeballs, but allowing you to make sense of what was happening at least.

Oberyn and Ellaria… they must have come in just after… and then they-

“I heard you,” Oberyn growled at the man again as he used his agility to duck Gannon’s reactionary swing, slamming him into the table’s surface once more. Using the momentary disorientation, Oberyn disarmed the man before Gannon could fully unsheath his long sword, simultaneously forcing the man into a seated position in one of the chairs that hadn’t gotten knocked to the ground in the fray. “Now tell me why I should let you live.” He moved one hand to the back of Gannon’s neck and pressed hard until the man began to choke out, gasping and gesturing to the Lannister crest emblazoned on the leather chestpiece he wore, and Oberyn released his grip enough to lean back and glance down at the embroidered lions, a look of mock appraisal pulling his handsome features into a cruel mask. “A soldier? Is that what you are trying to say? That I should let you live because you are a soldier?” He scoffed, shaking his head as he tossed the sword aside. “No, no, no,” Oberyn chided, the skin over the knuckles of his left hand stretched tight over the other man’s neck as Gannon fought to free himself from the Red Viper’s hold. “You are not a soldier.”

The dented steel clattered noisily against the stone floor, skidding halfway across the room to where you and Ellaria stood, the woman stopping its momentum by placing the sole of her sandal atop the flat width of the blade. She still had one arm around your waist, the opposite hand still covering yours to help you keep the cool cloth pressed to your bloodied cheek. Eyes never leaving Oberyn, she turned only enough to whisper into your ear. “He’s going to make that swine pay for what he did to you,” she told you, leaving a comforting kiss on your uninjured cheek. “I promise.”

You didn’t doubt it. Ignoring the ache, your upper lip curled as you eyed the man who struck you. “Good.” From the corner of your eye you saw Ellaria’s mouth lift into a grin at your response while Oberyn shifted his grip from behind Gannon’s head to one of his wrists, forcing his fingers to splay open atop the carved wood.

“You are not a soldier,” the Prince went on, “I am sure of this because a soldier would know better than to draw his longsword in such close quarters. No, I don’t think Lannisters have soldiers. That word implies training. Dedication. Skill.” Leaning closer, he paused to allow his voice to fill with disdain, then looked over to where Ellaria’s foot held the weapon in place. “You are just a sack of meat with a pointy sword that is too far away to save you now.” Gannon began a string of swears then, but Oberyn didn’t let him finish it, cutting him off with a question. “Do you know why King’s Landing is such an ugly place?” He used his free hand to grab the sniveling, shaking excuse for a soldier by the jaw.

You shivered, watching his fingers dig in with enough force to leave deep bruises if not crack the bones beneath them. How are those the same hands that he- With a rough twist he forced Gannon’s face in your direction, left hand still pining the other man’s wrist to the table. The man who only moments before had been holding you down even more harshly actually had the audacity to shoot you a pleading glance, the fear in his eyes begging you to call off the attack. Fuck you, Gannon. You narrowed your eyes at him and spat blood onto the blade Oberyn had stripped him of.

Dropping his level he lined himself up directly beside the coward. Releasing the man’s chin as roughly as he’d grabbed it, he turned in your direction. You saw a quick flash of pain in his eyes as he looked at you, and though it was gone before you were truly sure it was there, you felt it in your chest. Oh, Oberyn, it’s… I’m alright.

As though he could hear your thoughts, he blinked and the remnants of the flash were gone, replaced with renewed anger. He swiveled his head to face Gannon once more. “Because worthless fucking shits like you destroy all the beautiful things.” With lightning speed he reached for the short dagger hanging from his own belt to unsheath it and dragged it across the tabletop. Gannon’s chair shifted as he tried in a desperate panic to distance himself from the glinting edge of the razor sharp weapon, the rounded legs scraping the stone floor as Oberyn brought the crooked dagger to hover over the man’s pinky finger. “Do you know what we do to men like you in Dorne?” He rested the edge of the dagger between the top and middle knuckles of Gannon’s last two digits, a thin crimson line appearing beneath the blade before it had even had the chance to bite into the skin there.

“Oberyn, wait.” You called out his name, raising the hand you’d been clutching onto Ellaria’s forearm with to stop him from removing Gannon’s fingers. His forehead creased in confusion, the woman beside you drawing a breath to protest your seemingly merciful request. But you only waited long enough for a spark of relief to flicker in Gannon’s eyes, your own burning with hate- for Gannon and men like him- and that flicker fizzled to nothing as he realized that you had no plans to grant him mercy. “It was the other hand that he struck me with.”

Flashing a grin as quick as the blade he held, Oberyn switched Gannon’s hands so that it was his dominant one to take the punishment, and in a testament of just how sharp the Red Viper of Dorne kept his knives, removed the top portion of the man’s four fingers with almost no pressure needed, the detached parts rolling over the table, no longer a piece of the man’s body, now just bits of waste. Gannon let out a nearly inhuman howl of pain as he keeled over onto the floor in a bloody heap, clutching the gushing stumps above his knuckles that used to be fingers. Though you had never had a digit cut off and couldn’t begin to guess at how it would feel, the sounds coming from the man were twisted, inverted almost, turning into a shriek, his face contorted as though he was being consumed in flames you couldn’t see. Finally, writhing his way to his feet, Gannon scrambled from the room, his screams still audible even as he fled the brothel.

You hadn’t even realized that you’d stepped away from Ellaria, not until you were reaching for the handle of the dagger that Oberyn had released once he’d finished carrying out the sentence he had passed on Gannon. But before you could close your fingers around the hilt, you felt and then saw Oberyn’s hands coming from behind you to cover yours, stopping you. Pressing your hands into your own stomach, he pulled you back gently but urgently into his chest, his lips immediately finding a home behind your ear where he kissed your name. “You’re safe.” His breath hit your skin in a wave as he slowly turned you in his arms to look you over. Satisfied that you hadn’t been more seriously injured than you were, he relaxed but only slightly.

Sticking one hand out wordlessly behind himself, he waited for Ellaria to pass him the cloth she had been using to clean your cheek, his eyes glued to your face as he brought the cloth there, dabbing so feather light that you hardly felt a thing. You did feel the weight in his eyes as he looked at you though, and you could tell that what he and his paramour had walked in on had shaken him. Just as your lips parted, intending to whisper his name, his eyebrows came together, a crease forming between them to turn his expression even more grave and it silenced you. Cradling your face between his large palms, he kept you framed between his bent forearms as he spoke. “You must never touch one of my blades unless I place it in your hand, do you understand?”

Sucking in a breath, your eyes widened as they flicked back to the blade where it still sat atop the table. You had heard the rumors about the poisons that the Dornish Prince coated his weapons with, and as the sunlight filtered through the window, you saw it shining a dark sickly green color and everything fell into place. That was why he was in so much pain, that’s… he- You looked back at Oberyn then, your chest heaving as you wrapped your head around everything. “You… poisoned him?”

“He deserved worse.” You watched his nostrils flare, something fiery roaring to life in his eyes. “For what he did to you, he deserves-”

“Will he die?” You asked without flinching, without your voice wavering, giving him no reason to believe that you were off put by how he had handled Gannon.

His upper lip curled slightly as he answered, his voice dropping lower. “Not right away.” You inhaled a breath through your nose. He will, then. You caught what he wasn’t saying, that the poison he had used was not only responsible for the increased pain sensitivity, but that it would also masquerade as infection soon enough, sickening the man well beyond the point of saving before he’d even shown signs of illness.

“Good.” You narrowed your eyes to add emphasis, wanting him to know that you were entirely supportive of the fate he’d subjected Gannon to. He did it to himself.

Oberyn tilted his head to one side as Ellaria stepped around to take the cloth back from him, the pair of them existing in such harmony with each other that they didn’t even need to communicate verbally. She laid her hand on his arm, moving closer to press her lips to his bicep, kissing him through his robe. Though she didn’t even make contact with his skin, the action was so intimate that their connection was almost tangible. They’re so… Despite the pain you were still in and the shock that still coursed through your veins, the pure beauty in the way that they loved one another wasn’t lost on you. Most people would never have even a fraction of what they gave each other, what they allowed one another to have, what they encouraged each other to experience. You knew that no matter how long you would be involved in their lives, even if you did end up going back to Dorne with them, there was nothing that you or anyone could do to come between Oberyn and Ellaria. It was gorgeous, the way that they respected and supported each other, and you knew that most people wouldn’t understand it, but that didn’t matter to you, or to them.

Ellaria leaned over to tuck a piece of your hair out of your eyes, sweeping her fingertips over your swollen cheek. “This will fade, I promise.” She gave you a smile then that was softer than you had a feeling she liked to appear to anyone but Oberyn, then leaned in to speak into your ear. “Let him take care of you. He… he needs to know you’re alright.” Dropping a soft peck to your eyebrow, she pulled back and gave you a minute nod, and then she was heading for the door without another glance or word.

Once it had clicked shut, Oberyn took both of your hands in his and led you slowly backwards to the bed, pausing when he felt his calves hit it to shift his grip to your waist. As he sat on the edge, he pulled you into his lap, and you let him fold you close to his body. But instead of staying there, he slid his arms beneath your legs and around your torso, moving both of you backwards towards the pillows until he had enough space to lay you down. Completely bare, the sash you’d been wearing torn in bloodied pieces on the floor, he let his eyes roam every bit of you, taking stock of the bruises and scrapes, the scratches and red marks that you’d received before he and Ellaria had come to your aid. Then, without warning, his eyes were on yours, and they were spilling over with need, but it wasn’t the same kind of need that you’d seen there before.

He needs to know you’re alright.

You heard the other woman’s words echo in your mind, and you knew that this was what she meant. Licking at your lips, you reached for his jaw, fingers grazing the deceptively soft hair that covered it, and you felt him lean into your touch, eyes closed for several beats. “I’m alright, Oberyn,” you kept your voice as even as you could, knowing that it would help convince him that while you were hurt, it could have been far worse. “I’m alright, because you and-”

“I am sorry that I could not stop him sooner.” He hadn’t waited for you to finish speaking, nor had he opened his eyes, and the way that the muscles in his throat contracted as he swallowed told you that there was more to what he was feeling than you knew.

“I...Its-” His eyes opened as you swept your thumb over his cheek. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Yes- I do.” He shook his head slightly and took your hand in both of his. Bringing it to his lips, he fit the knuckle of your middle finger between his lips, dragging it along the seam of them before kissing the very end of it. “I have my reasons,” he said, “for why I… why seeing this happening was-” he swore under his breath and swallowed again. “Something…monstrous happened to...to my sister.” You felt your heart break at the sadness in his usually vivacious tone, and you wanted to say something to comfort him, but you fought the urge, remembering what Ellaria had said. “I do not wish to talk about that with you tonight, not while you are…” He brought one hand to your abdomen, fingers finding a divot left there by the press of Gannon’s metallic sword hilt against your skin. “Not while you are in need of my care.” He carefully lowered himself to lay beside you, letting his touch travel over your body to caress each bruise, and then his lips were raking over the cut on your cheek, impossibly close but so gentle that even though the skin was raw and angry, it didn’t hurt at all. “I will tell you about her one day. I… I want you to know me, understand me. And you cannot do that without learning about her.” You wanted to know whatever he would tell you, even if hearing it would shatter your heart all over again. “But not tonight. Tonight…” he looked into your eyes then, that need still there. “Tonight, let me take care of you, my wild thing.” Though it wasn’t sexual, the burn in his desire to tend to you purely to help heal your wounds, you couldn’t help the way that your stomach flipped and your heart lurched, because that somehow made it mean even more. “I will not rest, he went on as you hummed at the sensation of the backs of his fingers trailing over the purplish marks on your arm, “until I have made my penance to every part of you that he touched.”

You fell asleep that night to his fingers in your hair, his lips resting against the crown of your head as you lay against his chest, not a single mark left untended by the Prince.

THANK YOU FOR READING! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tag list please feel free to let me know. And like I said up top: if you have any requests or ideas that you would like to see for these two, send an ask and I will see what I can do!

tags: @something-tofightfor @gollyderek @pheedraws @valkblue @alraedesigns @beefcakebarnes @persie33ik @fific7 @g0ldenlush @insiespeckagain @thisgirl-knm @writeforfandoms @paracosmenthusiast

#oberyn martell fic #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x ellaria sand #oberyn martell x you #pedrostories #game of thrones fanfic #got fanfic #the red viper of dorne #oberyn martell #the viper and the wild thing #pedro pascal characters #TV&TWT #please read warnings

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thewaytoaclonesheart · 4 years

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Embers and Flames ✨

Rated: M

Warnings: clonecest, vanilla smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up people!), fluff, angst (very little), slightly graphic description of injury and blood, more fluff!

Summary: “Jesse was usually the one to initiate anything sexual between them, but Kix found, he could, and would, wait no longer. And as he pulled Jesse towards him, roughly sealing their lips in a bruising kiss, it was with a deep carnal desire to celebrate life with his Riduur.”

Kix needs to feel alive after treating injured and ill. Fives is recovering, and Kix finally lets go in the safe embrace of his Riduur.

_______________________________________________

The problem with rain, especially when it occurred as a massive downpour, wasn’t that water seeped through dureplastoid armor, or that their bodyglove beneath became wet as well. No.

The problem, was that despite their modified immune system, they were no less susceptible to a common cold. Which in turn, made Kix’s role as CMO, karking difficult. More so than usual, when taking into account, that several of the 501st officers, clone and nat-born alike, seemed to avoid the ships medbay, or medical tent if at all possible.

To state that Kix was tired, would be an understatement. He was exhausted.

More than a hundred vode were already showing symptoms of a common cold, and nearly as many had injuries sustained from the treacherous terrain and subsequent mudslides.

Fives was the worst of them all, and had been a too close to lost for Kix’s comfort. Luckily, they had managed to raise his temperature from freezing to slightly below standard. Though the biggest issue, and the one that was assessed first, was the major wound around his ribcage. While the injury had, bless the force, not damaged his lungs or respiratory system, it had dealt a large amount of damage to his lowest rib on the wounded side, causing a severe fracture. Along with this was substantiel blood loss, and combined, these facts had had Fives’ life hanging by a thin thread.

The worst part of it, however, had been Echo. The proud, intelligent and kind man, having been reduced to little more than a heartbroken, shivering, and terrified mess, all to realistically minded to not understand the situation in full. He was losing not only his last batchmate, his best friend, he was loosing his Riduur.

It was Kix that had told Echo that Fived had survived, and that a short time in a bactatank would make him right as rain again. Kix would later regret using that particular phrase, but without caf, descent sleep, and with nerves more frayed than usual, it had slipped out before he could stop it. Thankfully Echo had found it worthy as a pun, and had simply smirked, then quickly made his way to Fives’s bedside. He hadn't left in the near two-and-a-half hours since. He was sitting, now without the upper half of his armor, holding the hand of his cyare.

Kix was forced out of his own thoughts, as the transport landed onboard the ship, carrying the worst of the wounded, ill, and those whom held important roles within the structure of the 501st.

As CMO, Kix was among the first to be brought back to the ship, alongside the the two ARC troopers, and several other vode. Amongst them, was Jesse, his riduur.

They had sworn their vows rather quickly after becoming involved, though this seemed to be the norm, considering the often short life and brutal ends troopers would meet. And so, hastily spoken vows had become the norm, not only within the 501st legion, but within the entirety of the clone army. The record was currently held by two troopers in the 212th, though Kix didn’t know their names or designations.

Kix knew Jesse had been on a previous transport, and would therefore already be on the ship. It took less than ten seconds to send a message his way, asking him to join Kix in the small medics office off to the side of the medbay. Kix needed Jesse, needed to see him again, even though they had been shoulder to shoulder mere hours ago. It wasn’t enough. Kix needed to feel alive, to let go, to feel something. He quickly made his last round, checking every trooper laid up, including Fives, now in a bactatank, Echo’s hand pressed against the tank, not wanting to be separated from his love.

As Kix made his way towards the room, he sent a quick message to his General, informing him about the wounded, and thanking the man for his assistance. Without him, Fives wouldn’t be here. The General wasn’t a Jetii healer, he knew just enough to use it in dire situations. He had gone as far as informing Kix, that he had secretly sought out Master Che in the healing halls of the temple, wanting to learn the basic force-healing, due to his master constantly getting himself, and therefore General Skywalker, into situations where a healer would have been ‘Wizard’ to have on hand.

It didn’t register to Kix, that the door to the small quarters was unlocked, nor that the light was turned on, until two hands grasped his own, forcing a small surprised gasp from him.

“Easy Cyare, its just me“ Jesse spoke, in a low tone, as if speaking no louder than a breath.

“I was already on my way here when I received your message, are you alright?” A simple question had Kix’ mind reeling, caught up in the eyes of his patients, filled to the brim with unsteady tears of pain, the flushed cheeks not due to a flirty comment or recent shag, but due to illness, leaving only hoarse voices and wicked fatigue in its wake.

Jesse was usually the one to initiate anything sexual between them, but Kix found, he could, and would, wait no longer. And as he pulled Jesse towards him, roughly sealing their lips in a bruising kiss, it was with a deep carnal desire to celebrate life with his Riduur.

A single gasp had been Jesses response, surprised only a short moment, before grabbing Kix’ hips, and holding him as close as possible. Gentle love would follow in the embers left behind by the all consuming fire of lust and desire that had enraptured them.

And as many times before, armor, now unfastened, was thrown hastily to the floor, with little care as to how. And as more and more pieces fell, the two men were left standing in their blacks, only now having to catch air on quickened breaths, holding each other so close they seemed to be sharing the same air.

“Cyare, I need.. please, just.. I need to feel you” it was rare that Kix asked, usually more in control of himself, more cocky and more likely to tease. While Jesse wouldn’t mind teasing Kix, it seemed out of place now, with the other man as vulnerable as he was.

“Are you sure Mesh’la?” Calling Kix beautiful was a nickname he had given the other man long ago, when he had first started to shave his head and show of his tattoo, now it was his favorite way to refer to Kix. “I don’t want you to regret this. So I need you to be sure”

Kix loved this part of Jesse, the one that always asked for consent, even if Kix had initiated the intimacy, Jesse would always make sure.

“I want you Jesse, I need you.” Those words, were all it took.

Hands grasping, mouths meeting skin, sucking marks on collarbones and just beneath the line of their blacks. And as hands grasped clothing, only to pull it away from the other, revealing beautiful dark brown skin beneath, only broken by tattoos and white-lined scars, they came together in a cocoon of love and desire.

It didn’t take long for Kix to be prepared, lying front down on the singular cot in the room. Nor did it take long for Jesse to have the other man, his amazing and wonderful man, ready.

As Jesse entered Kix, little by little, they both panted and gasped through, enjoying the tightness and the easy glide, made so by using a bacta-based lube. And as seconds passed, the tempo quickened, panted breaths became moans of pure carnal pleasure, and words reminiscent of begging intermixed, as they both reached for their climax. Kix was the first to fuel the flames, for as Jesse had grasped his member in hand, and hit his prostate simultaneously, he had come near instantly. And as he clenched around Jesse, the other man had followed shortly, groaning and realizing all he had into Kix, marking him as his own.

They knew each other’s bodies as if their own, having spend many nights like this, in the throes of passion, fueling the flames of desire until an explosion of pleasure had those flames explode and fizzle to embers of love and care.

It was only after Jesse had found a moist cloth and wiped his Riduur down, that the tiredness sat in. And as he lay down next to Kix, taking him into his arms and holding him tight, that words were uttered just as they reached the edge of sleep.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Mesh’la”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Cyare”

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draven-imani · 3 years

Text

Journal 8

I met the Queen of Mendev. Which somehow managed to still be impressive even after meeting the Inheritor a few days ago, which speaks pretty highly to her. Aaaaaand the Queen kind of sort of knighted me and gave me a promotion to commander of own legion and I don’t know what to do and I’m freaking out a little.

Right. Right—let’s just take it from the top.

Our little group had met up at Defender’s Heart when we got word from Commander Spriggans that there was an attack on the horizon. We made our way outside and saw an enormous force approaching. There were a number of those colossal Ulkreth demons that Hiskaria had seen demolishing buildings during the first attack, as well as a full army of lesser demons. They were marching on us rather than teleporting straight in—we figured specifically to show off their might to lower our morale.

Then, before the army could reach us, a second army from the East came charging into battle. Above them great metal machines flew overhead, and they dropped into the middle of the demon army these huge metal scorpions, which landed and began shooting the demons with beams from their tails. A person with green hair and glowing lines down their body gave a battle cry as they grabbed onto one of those giant metal scorpions and caused it to shoot that appeared to be an empowered disintegrate out of its tail into one of the Ulkreths.

The United Mendev-Numeria Alliance had joined the battle, just in the nick of time. With the use of their ‘Annihilator robots’, those big scorpions, and ‘laser guns’, and all sorts of other weapons I’d never even dream up they cleared out the demons. Even Hiskaria was about speechless. I think her words were something like “I thought Kevoth-Kul didn’t have that many of those”.

We were all incredibly pleased with how that went, and everyone was heading to Defender’s Heart for a victory ‘we didn’t get crushed by demons for another day’ drink, when a messenger came to get the four of us. Apparently Queen Galfrey had come to Kenabres herself. And apparently she’d been told about what we’d done the day before. And apparently she wanted to meet with us personally. She gave us the option of meeting at her personal war tent or at a place of our choosing. We decided it seemed most polite to meet at her tent. Melody and I decided to go dressed in the fine clothes we’d gotten from the kind shop keeper who had given us the free incredibly nice clothing for saving his wares the other day. Hiskaria and Luna…did not. It turned out it didn’t really matter. I will compared Queen Galfrey to the Inheritor in one way—she is a warrior as much as anything else.

When we arrived to the Mendev-Numeria encampment, we were met by the green haired person, Coremagon—an android, the first I’ve ever met. They had a particular quirk, in that they were not particularly good with emotions, and kept blowing up in anger. It also turns out they are Cassandalee’s herald. I would say I bet that was pretty cool for Hiskaria, but honestly considering her goddess talks in her head, maybe it was kind of mundane compared to how utterly in awe I would have been in her place.

I admit, I may have gotten Coremagone riled up a little. I wasn’t necessarily trying to. I was actually trying to help. Legitimately. I’m not exactly the best with emotions myself. I figured, it’s more pleasant to focus on trying to feel the good ones than the bad ones, right? That’s what I do, at least. Smile.

Well, apparently telling the herald of the god that they should smile is a bad idea.

I got thrown into the air by a whirlwind and landed on my ass.

They got told off by the queen though, so I got a little vindication.

We went into Queen Galfrey’s war tent and met the Queen herself. She was an incredibly striking figure. Definitely more warrior than bureaucrat. She waved a hand over her war table, and an enchantment in the table went off that caused a feast to appear, and she invited us to sit and eat while we spoke of recent events. We confirmed the reports she’d received of what had happened at the Grey Garrison, and she told us some of what has been happening at the borders. The Stormlord’s forces have been attacking at the borders of Mendev since the fall of Kenabres, and without the Wardstone’s barrier it is now only the armies of the crusaders standing between them and the rest of the world.

She said that while some people understand the gravity of the choice we made, and the lives we saved in doing so, others are calling us traitors for destroying the final shred of the barrier and the last hope of renewing it.

Queen Galfrey had a new task for us. As a member of the Crusades I am, of course, obligated to see this through to the end, but she offered to the others that if they wanted to help to clear their names and to do something to strike a blow against the demon hordes, she had a mission for us.

Her Majesty asked that we travel with a legion of her men to Drezen, to take back the captured fortress, and to retrieve the Sword of Valor, the very banner once held aloft by Iomedae herself, which if hung in the town again would expel the demonic forces. Currently the bulk of the forces from Drezen were with the Stormlord on the border, and the Queen intended to take her army to keep their attention there while a smaller strike force went in and took Citadel Drezen. I mentioned that we’d discovered that Stauton Vhagn was involved in the attack on Kenabres, and that he was holed up in Drezen as well. The Queen felt this was all the more reason to strike while the iron was hot and take Drezen back from him.

Luna said she would be willing to help, but she had no desire to lead an army. Queen Galfrey agreed that Luna and Melody were not members of the crusades, and therefore the choice was theirs to not take such a role. She also asked Hiskaria for her paperwork, and signed off on her release papers, before sending them off to be returned to Kevoth-Kul via some sort of magic portal. She said that technically Hiskaria was free to go now, as she had done more than enough to warrant her release in good faith. However the Queen had a feeling that Hiskaria would see this through to the end, and Hiskaria agreed that she wanted to do so as well.

With that said, Queen Galfrey declared that she was going to have each of us knighted and titled for our services. Should we survive this, apparently we’d each have land back in Mendev should we want it. That’s. A lot. That’s more than I ever expected to get out of all this. I didn’t come here to get anything, except maybe a little justice for those who died, and the ability to stop as many people from being made victims as possible. Actual physical rewards never really crossed my mind.

Actually surviving to the end of all this never really crossed my mind if we’re going to be brutally honest.

Melody was titled Lady-Lady Melody Legro, Lady of Grace

Luna was titled Luna, Lady of the Crescent Moon

Hiskaria was simply titled Lady Hope—Hope being her last name and something meaningful given her story.

And I guess now I am Sir Draven, the One-Eyed Knight.

I guess it’s a good thing I decided to quit being so self-deprecating about my scars after last night, or I might have felt a bit of a sting about the big thing that held me back all these years and kept me wallowing in the Raven Corps being what she decided to highlight in my title.

Okay. There might still be a little bitterness there. But—I’m working on it.

With this done, we were given a timeframe to expect to go—we will be leaving in three days time. Then we were dismissed, except for Luna who asked to remain to ask the Queen something in private. The rest of us gave her privacy and remained outside while she talked to the Queen about…whatever that was about.

Then we headed back to Defender’s Heart for a little revelry and to meet three new allies who the Queen had brought to our attention would be joining us with the legion. Aron Kir, a master spy with a strong knowledge base in siege warfare. His boyfriend and an old friend of Melody’s, Sosiel Vaenic, a Shelynite cleric and tactician with a vast knowledge of demons who didn’t really understand Melody’s desire to keep her heritage on the down low. And last, smallest, but certainly not least, Nurah Dendiwhar, a halfling bard who kept the sangrias coming throughout the night from a seemingly never ending box on her back. The three were extremely colorful and enjoyable characters who I was feeling very optimistic about working with.

Then while we were chatting, Commander Spriggans flagged me down. We shared a drink, and he handed me new orders from Queen Galfrey. Hiskaria was officially no longer part of the Raven Corps. And neither was I, since I would be leaving the city and therefore the Corps behind.

Instead, as I alluded to earlier, I had gotten a promotion. Commander of my own legion. I have a couple of days to think of a name and to get everything in order. Commander Tirabade—I guess I should be on first name basis with her now like everyone else? Irabeth is coming as well, as neither of us have field experience outside of Kenabres, but she has longer experience as a commander and is meant to be an advisor of sorts.

Inheritor help me that might be the strangest sentence I’ve written in this journal so far, Irabeth Tirabade is supposed to be my advisor on being commander of my own legion. It has been a few hours and this is still surreal to me. Aravashnial is coming along to lend his magic expertise as well, and Anevia wouldn’t be caught dead being left behind with Irabeth going.

Oh! I had forgotten in the middle of everything else, Queen Galfrey had some of her personal clerics see to Aravashnial and Anevia, so their injuries from the attack are no more. It is a relief, especially in regards to Aravashnial’s eyes. Queen Galfrey offered to do the same for my own eye, but I declined. I explained that I’d already learned how to fight with one eye, and I’d have to readjust if she healed me now. Which is very true, although perhaps not my only reason after the other day. It’s a good reminder, too.

More surprisingly, Horgus is coming as well. He’s going to be managing the army’s funds, field supplies, basically all around making sure the numbers are in order and we don’t run out of what we need when we need it, or get overzealous and overstock on something we don’t need. Which is all well and good with me, I don’t have a head for numbers myself. Hiskaria’s volunteered to help him and I’m more than happy to let her. She’s proven with her magic and assisting Aravashnial that she’s good enough at bookkeeping.

As for me…I’m a bit at a loss. I talked to Leto, of course. Asked him how he does it. Plays off being the cool confident leader like he does. Well—obviously it’s because he is. His answer basically boiled down to fake it until you make it, which is so not the answer I wanted to hear. There’s no way he’s been faking that confidence all this time. I’ve seen him, that easy charisma that just draws people to him. He’s in a league of his own.

I guess I’ll just keep pushing on forward like I always do. It seems to somehow work out, although I’ll probably have to hit a few stumbling blocks along the way. ‘Just act like you have confidence’, hm? I hate him sometimes. He’s infuriating. I don’t think he even knows how he looks to everyone else.

#journal entry #pathfinder #pathfinder wotr #pathfinder wotr spoilers #draven imani

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dettiot · 4 years

Text

Fic: For Want of a Lightsaber 1/?

For want of a nail the shoe was lost. For want of a shoe the horse was lost. For want of a horse the rider was lost. For want of a rider the message was lost. For want of a message the battle was lost. For want of a battle the kingdom was lost. And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

For want of a lightsaber, the galaxy is saved.

XXX

Hello! So earlier today, I saw a piece of fanart by @squishbaebae that gave me all the feels--and ideas! So I worked backwards from Anakin and Obi-Wan being involved in the Rebellion during RoTJ to come up with this story that takes a different twist on RotS.

Dialogue taken from RotS.

I don't know when the next chapter will be up, but I hope you enjoy reading this!

You can also read this on AO3.

XXX

Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight, breathed hard as he held his sparking, damaged lightsaber in his hand. He felt the power coursing through his veins, a dark command ringing in his ears, as he watched Master Windu fall into the depths of Coruscant.

And at the same time . . . he felt the call of the Light Side. He could feel his bond with Obi-Wan, could feel his master’s tired satisfaction at defeating General Grievous, thinking about the end of the war. He could sense Padmé, nearby in her Senate office. And the baby cradled inside her, so bright and strong with the Force.

“What have I done?” he said, unable to stay upright. He fell to his knees, his head hanging low, as he struggled.

He couldn’t lose Padmé. He would not lose her. Not like he had lost his mother. Nothing else mattered except Padmé and their baby.

Even though he was turning his back on everyone and everything else . . . but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t fair, how the Jedi treated him. It wasn’t fair that they wanted to take away the one thing he needed in the entire galaxy!

“You are fulfilling your destiny, Anakin,” the Chancellor said, still so calm, so certain, even after what had just happened. “Become my apprentice. Learn to use the Dark Side of the Force.”

Would the Dark Side give him what he needed? Not just Padmé, but . . . the certainty that the Chancellor had? That Padmé had? Would the struggle be over?

Anakin didn’t know. But--but he had to try.

“I will do whatever you ask,” he said, lifting his head to look at the Chancellor, to see his face wrinkled and aged, his eyes gleaming yellow.

“Good!” The Chancellor’s voice was full of approval, of triumph.

“Just help me save Padmé’s life,” Anakin said quickly, needing the Chancellor to know how important this was. “I can’t live without her.”

The Chancellor nodded. “To cheat death is the power only one has achieved. But if we work together, I know we can discover the secret.”

A voice in the back of Anakin’s head, a voice that sounded like Obi-Wan and infuriated him, quietly nudged him. He doesn’t know? How will that help Padmé, when she dies in childbirth in your dreams? She’s so close to the end of her pregnancy . . .

He pushed away the voice, feeling his anger grow. If the Chancellor said they could do it, they would do it. They could get started right now!

“I pledge myself to your teachings,” Anakin said, bowing his head again. “To . . . to the ways of the Sith.”

The Jedi were so stubborn and righteous. They had lost their way. He was the Chosen One. He could learn from Darth Sidious, save Padmé, and then--then he’d figure out the rest. Just as long as he had Padmé.

“Good. Good!” the Chancellor said, his praise a balm on Anakin’s soul. “The Force is strong with you. A powerful Sith you will become. Anakin Skywalker, you are one with the Order of the Sith Lords. Henceforth, you will be known as Darth . . . Vader.”

Darth Vader? That--that wasn’t--was it supposed to sound scary?. It sounded . . . kinda lame. Like something he might have come up with as a kid.

Anakin--no, he was Darth Vader now--shook off the irrelevant thought. “Thank you . . . my Master.”

His skin crawled a little. It didn’t feel right to call the Chancellor ‘master’. It felt . . . dangerous.

The anger inside him roared and howled at the word. He tried to reason with himself, but--but then he realized he didn’t have to. He could be angry. As angry as he wanted!

“Rise,” the Chancellor said regally. “We have much to do.”

Standing up, Anakin nodded. “We have to begin our research.”

“Research?” the Chancellor said, some of the wrinkles shifting in a motion that reminded Anakin of someone quirking an eyebrow.

Frowning, Anakin said, “To save Padmé.”

“Of course, my young apprentice, of course,” the Chancellor said, patting his shoulder. “But first, we must secure ourselves. The Jedi must be eliminated. They are too dangerous. You must lead the 501st against the Temple. You know what you must do. Leave no one alive.”

The 501st? His legion? They were good men . . . would they follow his order to attack?

“How?” Anakin asked. “They’ll argue--”

“They will follow my order,” the Chancellor said, waving a hand in the air as if Anakin’s objection was a mote of dust.

Why was he arguing with his master? He had to stop--he couldn’t risk Padmé’s life like this!

But there was one more problem . . .

“Master,” Anakin said, holding up his lightsaber. A stray blast of electricity from the Chancellor’s attack on Master Windu had caught the lightsaber. The crystal inside was dead, utterly destroyed.

The Chancellor sighed heavily. “Oh, my. Do you have a spare lightsaber?”

“No, Master. And no spare kyber crystals, either.”

The Force stirred around him and Anakin felt annoyed. It was like someone tapping you on the shoulder when you were trying to ignore them.

“I must go to Ilum,” Anakin said. “The 501st are good soldiers. They will follow orders.”

“Yes, they will,” the Chancellor said, sounding dissatisfied. “And I suppose younglings and elderly Jedi will pose no challenge to the finest men of the Grand Army. Very well, Lord Vader. You will go to Ilum and then await further instructions.”

“Yes, my master,” Anakin said, bowing his head.

He turned to leave, only to stop when his master spoke. “Lord Vader?”

“Yes?” he asked, turning to look at him.

“I am no longer the Chancellor. I am your master, Lord Sidious. The ruler of my Galactic Empire.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was cold and hard and . . . terrifying. “Remember that.”

Anakin felt himself swallow. “Yes, Lord Sidious.”

And just like that, his old friend returned. “Very good. Hurry along, Lord Vader.”

His anger sparked. He wasn’t some child! He--he was Sidious’ chosen apprentice, strong in the Force!

Sidious closed his eyes. “Oh, your anger is powerful! Give in to it and feel your strength increase!”

That little Obi-Wan voice piped up again. Well, this is disturbing .

Too confused and angry and worried, Anakin ignored it all and stormed out of the Chancellor--the Emperor’s--office.

XXX

Oh, how he hated Ilum. It was always so kriffing cold.

But he had his crystals, and he had built a new lightsaber, so he was ready to get back to Coruscant. To check on Padmé, to find out if his master had found any information on how to save her.

He knew he was supposed to wait for instructions, but--but he couldn’t just sit in orbit around Ilum! It was too far away. He needed to be close to Padmé--it was nearly her time.

So he set course for Coruscant.

Only six parsecs from the planet, the holo chimed. Anakin quickly answered it, feeling a sense of anticipation in the Force.

His spirits plummeted when he beheld his master’s face.

“You were supposed to wait for further instructions,” Lord Sidious said darkly.

“I know, my master, but I thought--”

“You do not disobey my orders!”

Anakin opened his mouth to speak, but--but he couldn’t breathe--

Putting his hand to his throat, he felt an invisible hand clutch around his neck, cutting off his air. He stared at his master, who looked back at him with anger and glee.

Just as suddenly as it started, the pressure was gone. Anakin gasped, leaning forward in his seat.

“Foolish boy,” Sidious spat out. “Your ineptitude has already cost me plenty. The Jedi in the Temple were able to fight back and several escaped. I can have no resistance to my rule. But first, you must go to Mustafar. Eliminate the Separatists. I have need for them no longer.”

“The Separatists?” Anakin asked in a raspy voice, feeling a wave of anger. “You--you controlled them?”

“A simple matter,” his master said. “I do not like these continued questions, Lord Vader. I see now that part of your training will require reinforcement of my orders.”

He tilted his head. “Or perhaps you require a reason to comply. I should visit your lovely wife. In her hour of need, she must be fearful--”

“No!” Anakin said, leaning forward, his chest aching. “No, I’ll do it, I promise!”

His master tutted. “Your promises mean nothing to me. I require your unhesitating obedience. Do you understand?”

Of course he understood! He wasn’t dumb. He was powerful and strong--Sidious had said so himself. He didn’t deserve to be treated like this! He wasn’t some slave to be ordered around!

Anakin’s blood ran cold. Was that what he was now? A slave? Again?

The pressure was back on his windpipe--not so strong as before, but enough to make his breaths come short. He nodded and wheezed, “Yes, Master.”

“Go to Mustafar. Do not delay,” Sidious ordered before ending the comm.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Anakin leaned his head forward. He was so tired . . . the lack of oxygen made his exhaustion feel even heavier. He just wanted Padmé.

Without conscious thought, he reached for the comm and keyed in Padmé’s personal frequency. Only a few people had this frequency and she always answered it, no matter what.

But this time, she didn’t. Anakin felt his fears grow. “Padmé? Padmé, please call me back as soon as you can. I--I . . .”

He let his voice trail off as he tried to think of what to say. How could he explain what he had done? She would be so disappointed . . .

But it wasn’t his fault! He was doing this for her! Why couldn’t she understand that? He did everything for her!

“I need you to come to Mustafar,” he said. “I’ll send you my coordinates. Just--just meet me there, as soon as you can. Please, Padmé.”

If he could just see her, things would be better. They could figure things out. Padmé--Padmé would forgive him, once he explained everything.

Nothing made sense right now. Padmé would fix that. He just had to take care of the Separatists first.

She would be happy about that. After all, the Trade Federation was part of the Separatists. With them gone, Padmé would be safe. No more attacks on her life. No more danger for the baby.

This was good, Anakin told himself as he changed course. Once he took care of the Separatists and got Padmé, they could go back to Coruscant. He would take Padmé to meet with the Emperor and they would all work together to save Padmé’s life.

You’re lying to yourself.

“Shut up, Obi-Wan,” Anakin muttered.

You know I’m not Obi-Wan.

“Shut up!”

The voice fell silent, leaving Anakin alone.

Alone and wondering what the voice meant when it denied being Obi-Wan. Because . . . it was so like his master--his former master--but, wait, hearing voices?

Was he going insane?

Anakin shook his head and focused on the blue swirl of hyperspace through the viewscreen. He wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t going to lose Padmé. He wasn’t--he wasn’t--

Sleep.

Even though it felt weird, listening to some strange voice in his head, Anakin closed his eyes. And the next thing he knew, he was opening his eyes, hearing the proximity alarm, and seeing a planet covered in red through the viewscreen.

He had arrived on Mustafar.

XXX

This--this was something he knew how to do.

His lightsaber flashing, the blade bright and blue, Anakin cut through the Separatist leaders. Without Dooku and Grievous, they were all cowering, their pleas for mercy as annoying as the cackles of a Kowakian monkey-lizard.

He left Nute Gunray for last. He advanced towards the Neimoidian, watching as his green skin went pale and his already-big eyes widened.

“No--no, Skywalker!” he said, huddled in a corner. “I beg you!”

Anakin twirled his lightsaber, standing tall in front of Gunray. “This is for my wife,” he said, before plunging the lightsaber through his chest and into the stone wall behind him.

The gasp he let out, the way he slumped down as Anakin pulled his blade free--Anakin felt a ripple of pleasure at his death. He would never harm Padmé again. He would never hurt innocent people in his pursuit of money and power.

Nute Gunray had discovered, the hard way, what true power was.

He held power in his hands and it was . . . it was so good. He could do anything with the Force. He could punish the wicked, kill those who deserved it, bring peace and order to the galaxy.

And he would. He, Anakin Skywalker, Darth Vader, would fix the galaxy. He would make Padmé see how much better it was. How much happier she would be if she listened to him.

With his robes fluttering around him as he stalked away, Anakin went to the landing platform. He could feel Padmé approaching.

There was something else--some flicker of a presence, too faint and gone too quickly for him to register. But it didn’t matter. Anakin was stronger than any other Jedi. And if Padmé had betrayed him, he would show her the error of her ways.

And he would forgive her, of course.

Padmé’s ship landed and within moments, she was coming down the landing ramp towards him. She had a hand tucked under her stomach, so pronounced in the tunic she wore, and all Anakin wanted to do was step forward and touch their child and her.

But the expression on her face--she was scared . Of him .

“Anakin,” she said, her voice so sweet and so worried. “I was so worried about you! Obi-Wan--he told me--”

So this was what his old master was doing? He must have felt Anakin’s fall--and instead of coming to him, instead of helping him, he had immediately gone to Padmé! To fill her head with lies, obviously.

To make her stop loving him. So he would give her up.

Anakin clenched his fists, feeling his metal hand creak. He would never give up Padmé!

“Obi-Wan is trying to turn you against me.” The words felt odd in his mouth, but they were true--they were the truth! Obi-Wan had always been fearful of his power. It must have come from jealousy--the knowledge he would always be lesser than Anakin. A jealousy born from the moment his master had given him up and chosen Anakin.

Padmé shook her head, her long braid swishing a little. “No, Anakin, no--he wants to help us.”

“Us?” he asked, staring at her, unable to believe that--

“He knows,” Padmé said, confirming his worst fear. The fear that had driven him to do anything to protect Padmé, to protect himself.

“He wants to help you--Anakin, all I want is your love,” Padmé said, reaching out for him.

It was all he ever wanted: Padmé, with him, the two of them free to live together in happiness. But if Obi-Wan knew, there could be no happiness. And if he didn’t serve Sidious, he wouldn’t have the power to save Padmé.

“Love won’t save you, Padmé,” he said, trying to make her understand. Hoping for a moment that he could just convince her to listen to him. “Only my new powers can do that.”

She shook her head, getting that stubborn, determined look on her face, even as her eyes looked glassy. “But at what cost? You’re a good person--don’t do this!”

He was ready to tear his own hair out at her blindness. How could she be so cavalier with her life? With the life of their child?

And he felt so kriffing angry at her, for not caring enough about him to protect herself. Didn’t she understand that?

“I won’t lose you the way I lost my mother,” he said, not caring if he was scaring her more. Because he would save her. “I am becoming more powerful than any Jedi has ever dreamed of, and I’m doing it for you--to protect you!”

To his surprise, Padmé stepped close to him, bringing her hands up to cup his face. “Come away with me. Help me raise our child. Leave everything else behind while we still can!”

Did she really mean that? Anakin searched her face, hoping he would see something to prove that she wanted to do that. To be with him, safe and happy, with their baby and their love. No more Senate, no more Jedi--just them.

He blinked and shook his head, trying to read her. But all he could feel was anger and fear and darkness.

No--no, she wouldn’t give up her career in the Senate. Not for him--not for anything. She was lying to him!

And why should they run? The Sith didn’t have any stupid rules about attachment--he could have Padmé at his side and still use all the power he had!

“Don’t you see?” he asked, bending close to her. “We don’t have to run away anymore. I have brought peace to the Republic.”

Padmé was shaking her head, but Anakin couldn’t stop talking. Even as that Obi-Wan voice started spouting its shavit again, telling him that he needed to stop. That he was losing Padmé.

The voice was wrong.

“I’m more powerful than the Chancellor--the Emperor. I--I can overthrow him. And together, you and I can rule the galaxy--make things the way we want them to be!” Anakin finished, feeling breathless and alive like he never had before.

And powerful. Even though Padmé was edging back from him, looking scared and horrified and destroyed.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” he asked, prodding her, wanting her to say the words so he could prove just how wrong she was.

“I don’t believe what I’m hearing!” she cried out. “Obi-Wan was right--you’ve changed!”

Like Obi-Wan would know anything! He hadn’t been here--he had never been here when Anakin needed him! Always spouting about duty and the Code. He had let the woman he loved die for his duty.

Obi-Wan might be the perfect Jedi, but he was a failure of a man. And Anakin would be a better man and a stronger Jedi than Obi-Wan had ever been!

“I don’t want to hear anymore about Obi-Wan,” Anakin warned Padmé. “The Jedi turned against me--the Republic turned against me. Don’t you turn against me, too!”

He would never hurt her--but he would not let her abandon him. He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t lose her. Even if it meant he had to force his way into her mind and show her how wrong she was. To blot out Obi-Wan’s voice from her head.

She’s crying. You’ve hurt her.

Anakin used his metal hand to pinch his outer thigh, hard enough to nearly rip out a piece of his flesh. It blotted out the voice of Obi-Wan in his head.

“I don’t know you anymore. Anakin--you’re breaking my heart! You’re going down a path I can’t follow,” Padmé sobbed.

“You can,” he said, standing over her. “You will come with me. I will save you, and then, we’ll be together and happy--that’s our path, Padmé!”

She was crying too hard to respond other than by shaking her head.

“Padmé, don’t you understand?” he said, gripping her upper arms. “Losing you--I’ll lose myself! I love you!”

“But--but that’s not love!” she said, looking up at him, tears pouring down her face, gasps punctuating her words. “You don’t care about what I want--just what you want! We’re having a baby--you’re about to be a father--you have to care about more than yourself! Please, Ani--stop this now!”

How . . . how dare she! Anakin felt the very air around him snap and crackle with his anger. He took a step back from her, watching as Padmé’s body slumped, barely staying upright.

“Stop, Anakin--please stop,” Padmé whispered, looking up at him with big, lying brown eyes.

But he couldn’t stop. Extending one hand, he started looking for an entrance to her mind. A way to make her see.

Even if it took rearranging her whole mind, he would prove to her how much he loved her.

“Anakin, stop!”

For a moment, he thought it was the voice in his head. But then a powerful Force push moved him away from Padmé, who slumped to the ground. And Obi-Wan was there, striding towards him, looking tired and worried and scared.

But it must all be an act--Obi-Wan didn’t care about him--he had never cared! He just wanted to keep him from his power.

“Don’t do this, my friend--my brother,” Obi-Wan said, his voice breaking.

“You turned her against me!” Anakin said, his anger hotter than the fields of lava surrounding them.

Obi-Wan shook his head and spoke regretfully. “You have done that yourself.”

No--no--no--he hadn’t, he wasn’t. It was all Obi-Wan’s fault!

“You will not take her from me!” He moved to stand between Obi-Wan and Padmé, keeping his old master away from her.

For a long moment, Obi-Wan looked at him. Then he slid off his robes, letting them fall to the landing platform. “Your anger and lust for power have already done that.”

“No!” he screamed, grabbing his lightsaber and igniting it.

Unhindered by his robes, Obi-Wan easily blocked Anakin’s attack. He didn’t care. He didn’t care that Padmé was lying unconscious on the landing platform, that his new lightsaber felt hot in his hand--why was it hot?--that Obi-Wan was fighting him like he never had before, giving so much ground, like he didn’t want to win.

If Obi-Wan didn’t want to win, Anakin wasn’t about to let himself lose in order to give Obi-Wan a hollow victory.

Into every blow and strike, Anakin poured his anger. His frustration. His confusion. His doubt. He pushed Obi-Wan back, back into the complex, past the bodies of the dead Separatists. Let Obi-Wan see what he was capable of!

He would kill Obi-Wan if he tried to stop him.

The heat from the lava, so close underneath their feet, didn’t scare him. He could win this fight. He would win and prove to Obi-Wan how much more powerful he was.

Scrambling, jumping, searching for an opening, a way to land the final blow on Obi-Wan . . . he had to do this. For himself, for Padmé.

Anakin leapt for the platform Obi-Wan was riding through the river of lava. A spark landed on his robes and he shrugged it off, unable to get it all the way off before Obi-Wan attacked him. He shifted his lightsaber into his mech hand, the sudden absence of heat in his right hand making him realize that something must be wrong with his new lightsaber.

He wrapped the Force around Obi-Wan, holding him away as he got his robe the rest of the way off. And Obi-Wan, the karking bastard , smiled.

“Remember the first time we sparred? You forgot to take off your robes then, too.”

How--how could he talk like that? Like they were just having fun, instead of fighting each other for their lives?

“Remember all the times you saved me? All ten times, like on Cato Nemoidia?” Obi-Wan said, his voice hoarse. “Anakin, you need to be saved from yourself.”

Saved? From himself? What kind of poodoo was this? He was strong and powerful! He was going to change the galaxy!

You are destroying the galaxy.

Anakin whirled around, bringing a hand to his head. “Stop!” he yelled, not sure whether he was talking to the voice in his head or to Obi-Wan.

“We don’t have to do this!” Obi-Wan said. “We can leave with Padmé, we can get you help--you don’t want to do this!”

“Yes, I do!” Anakin screamed, his whole body shaking. He brought his lightsaber up in a wide swing, his anger and fear making him sloppy--Obi-Wan would see right through this move--

But Obi-Wan didn’t. Or did he, and he just didn’t move? Anakin didn’t know. But as the lightsaber came closer and closer to his old master, ready to slice him in two at the waist, Anakin felt his heart clutch in his chest as he realized he was going to kill--

And then, just before the blade made contact, it vanished.

Obi-Wan stared at Anakin. Anakin stared at his lightsaber, then pulled it towards him and pressed on the button. Nothing happened.

Slowly, he lifted his eyes to Obi-Wan. Wondering what he was going to do. He was unarmed--technically defenseless. Would Obi-Wan continue the fight? Could Anakin win a fight without a lightsaber?

They stared at each other for a moment and Anakin felt his hand ball into a fist. He could still win! He would!

But before he could throw his punch, Obi-Wan shut down his lightsaber. “This ends now, Anakin.”

“No!” he yelled, feeling so tired, so angry, just so done --

Darkness overwhelmed him.

XXX

His head was throbbing. The air was cool. A soft bed cradled his body. A gentle hum filled the air.

And when he opened his eyes, he only saw a dimly-lit white room.

Sitting up slowly, Anakin looked around. It appeared like a medical suite, but unlike any med room he had ever been in. Where were the machines? Where were the healers?

Why was he here?

His clothes were gone and he was dressed in a white gown. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and ran a hand through his hair, finding no lumps or other signs of concussion. Other than the pounding headache, he felt all right.

Anakin frowned. Actually--he felt good . Like he had slept for a year and finally eased his exhaustion, like he had been eating real food for three meals a day instead of ration bars, like he had finally received medical care for all the small, insignificant injuries that had added up over three years of war.

It was like he could actually think clearly, for the first time in so long.

A soft creak made him whip his head around, wincing even as he saw the door to the room open, revealing Obi-Wan.

“Good morning,” he said quietly, stepping into the room. His eyes were steady but opaque as he looked at Anakin.

“Um, hi,” he said, looking around. “Where--where is this?”

“Takodana,” Obi-Wan said, taking a seat on a metal stool a few feet from Anakin’s bed.

The name sounded familiar, but his head hurt too much for him to try and place the planet within the galaxy. So he simply nodded.

“Padmé is safe,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “I thought you’d like to know that first.”

An intense feeling of relief swept through him, almost overwhelming him with its power. “Thank Force,” Anakin said, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. He sighed and looked back at his old master. “And . . . and the baby?”

“Safe as well,” Obi-Wan said, but with a flicker in his Force presence that told Anakin there was more to that. He opened his mouth to press him, but Obi-Wan held up a hand.

“I have a message from her that you can listen after we talk.”

Anakin frowned, starting to rise to his feet. “Obi-Wan, Padmé needs me--”

“No, she doesn’t.”

The bluntness of Obi-Wan’s words, the complete lack of sympathy or kindness in them, made Anakin stare at him. And when he saw how very serious Obi-Wan was, how much he meant those words, he found himself sitting back down.

“What have I done?” Anakin asked, hanging his head. Hearing the echo of the same words, spoken in the Chancellor’s office, when he had Fallen.

He had Fallen. He--he was a Sith.

And the Chancellor--the Emperor--his master, Darth Sidious--he would know how Anakin had failed. Failed as a Jedi, failed as a Sith--now he wouldn’t be able to protect Padmé, to save her--and their baby--

“Anakin, stop it.” Obi-Wan’s voice was firm. “Be mindful of your feelings.”

“Mindful?” he said, glaring at Obi-Wan. “Mindful?!? All I know are my feelings!”

“And you let each and every one sweep you up, like a leaf in a river,” Obi-Wan retorted. “You must learn control if you are to heal.”

Scoffing, Anakin rose to his feet and started looking for clothes. “Heal? Heal from what--falling to the Dark Side? No one can do that. I’m gone, Obi-Wan--just let me go and I’ll--”

“What? Work at the side of the greatest evil the galaxy has ever known?” Obi-Wan asked, standing up and advancing towards him. “Never see your wife again, never meet your children? Because I guarantee, Anakin, that is your fate if you don’t listen to what I have to say.”

Anakin stared at Obi-Wan. “What?”

Folding his arms over his chest, Obi-Wan nodded to the bed. “Sit.”

As directed, Anakin sank down onto the bed, frowning. It seemed like Obi-Wan thought that Anakin could . . . come back? Not be a Sith? But that was impossible. Master Yoda always said that any action that came from the Dark Side was unforgivable, unerasable. That the stain on your soul would never go away.

It was too late for him. And Obi-Wan should be the first one to know that.

“After I defeated Darth Maul on Naboo, the Council investigated me,” Obi-Wan said, sitting back down on his stool. “To fight a Sith, to defeat one, they believed I must have touched the Dark Side.”

Anakin blinked. “You? Go to the Dark Side?”

“I appreciate your belief,” Obi-Wan said, a bit dryly, but with a smile, too. “The Council finally determined I had not. But they were very cautious during the early years of your Padawan training. You might feel like they were watching you--but they were also watching me.”

“Oh,” he said quietly.

Obi-Wan looked at him for a few long moments. Long enough that Anakin wanted to squirm. To ask questions like where was Obi-Wan going with this and did he really think Anakin could come back and why was the anger so much more bearable now?

It was still there. He could feel it, churning and burning. But he didn’t feel like lashing out at Obi-Wan. He didn’t feel that drive to leave, to find Padmé, to protect her.

Nothing made sense right now.

“What happened, Anakin?”

He shifted. “What do you mean?”

“I’d like to hear, in your own words, why you Fell,” Obi-Wan said, unfolding his crossed arms and resting his hands on his knees. “Start at the beginning.”

“The beginning?” Anakin huffed. “I have no idea where the beginning is, Obi-Wan. And--and why you’re doing this.”

“I think the answer will come to you,” Obi-Wan said. “Just start talking.”

Heaving a sigh, Anakin rubbed at his temples. “Okay. Um . . . I guess--I guess it started when Padmé told me she was pregnant.”

In slow, halting words, Anakin began talking. He doubled back, jumped ahead, ran his hands through his hair, paced, fidgeted, shifted.

He talked about the dreams he’d had. He talked about what the Chancellor told him. He talked about having a secret marriage. He talked about watching Ashoka walk away.

And he found himself telling Obi-Wan about how he had slaughtered that village of Tusken Raiders who had tortured his mother. He talked about all the times he came too close to vengeance when fighting. He talked about the anger he felt whenever Padmé was threatened.

Through it all, Obi-Wan stayed silent, just listening. Taking it all in.

When Anakin finished, reduced to a voice barely above a whisper, Obi-Wan looked at him. “I’m sorry, Anakin.”

He hung his head. Of course he was. Hearing all that, Obi-Wan must have realized there was no saving him. He would--he would have to kill him. And then he’d go back to the Council and tell them . . .

Wait. The Council. Was there a Council anymore?

Sidious wanted all the Jedi wiped out. He said some had escaped from the Temple, and Master Windu had been killed, but--but who else? Who else had died?

Died because of him, Anakin?

“Just--just do it quickly, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said. “And--and please tell Padmé I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”

“Anakin, what are you saying?”

“You . . . you have to kill me,” he said, swallowing hard.

There was a deep sigh, and then the bed next to him shifted as Obi-Wan sat down beside him. “You have Fallen. You have committed evil acts. You have lost your way.”

There was a long pause. “But I believe I should help you find your way back, not strike you down.”

Anakin’s head jerked up and he stared at Obi-Wan. “What?”

Obi-Wan looked grave. “Anakin, the clone troopers wiped out most of the Jedi. Master Yoda was able to escape, as was I. The Temple was attacked, and it is unknown how many might have evaded the clone troopers sent to slaughter them.”

His mind reeled as he took all this in. The clone troopers, killing their Jedi? Force, he couldn’t imagine . . .

“The Emperor,” Obi-Wan said, disgust lacing his voice, “have declared the Jedi traitors. We are at the point of extinction.”

So . . . this was more about preserving the Jedi? Even though he had betrayed so much of what the Jedi Order stood for?

The confusion must have shown in his face, because Obi-Wan shook his head. “Although truly, all of that is merely my reasoning to Master Yoda to keep you alive. Which he knew. But he allowed me to take this position--that we should allow you to attempt redemption, if you choose.”

“Then what do you want, Obi-Wan? I mean, why do you even care?” Anakin asked dully.

For a long moment, there was nothing. It was like that moment before you jumped off a cliff or while you waited for a podrace to begin. You drew in a breath, waiting to exhale, waiting for release.

“I want my brother back. I want him to be happy.”

Two simple sentences. Only a few words each, spoke with such gentleness . . . but with a raging inferno of emotion behind them.

Just like the emotion sweeping over Anakin.

“So, Anakin Skywalker, do you choose redemption for your acts of evil?”

Obi-Wan’s voice was quiet and controlled. But there was so much hope in his eyes. He couldn’t let him down again.

“Yes,” Anakin said firmly.

“It will not be easy,” Obi-Wan warned.

“I want to do this,” Anakin said. “I . . . I want to have the chance to apologize to Padmé in person. And make up for what I caused, what I did.”

With a nod, Obi-Wan stood up. “We have much work to do, then. I’ll get your clothes and we can begin.”

“All right,” Anakin said, standing up as well. He stretched a little, savoring how good he felt. “Hey, this planet--Takodana--does it have some kind of weird regenerative property? I feel better than I have in years.”

“Oh, no--you’ve been asleep for a week,” Obi-Wan said as he left the room.

Anakin stared after his former master. “A week?!?”

End, Chapter 1

#anidala #anakin skywalker #padme amidala #obi-wan kenobi #sheev palpatine #star wars #my fic

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lions-arch-chronicle · 4 years

Photo

Issue 5

Mild Spoiler Warnings for LWS5

Image ID under the cut

Title: Breaking the Ice Legion: A New Terror Story: In the latest updates from the charr civil war reports have been coming in that negotiations have come to an absolute standstill. There has been a breakdown of all negotiations after the reported capture of Steel Warband member and second in command to Centurion Steelcatcher, Cinder Steeltemper, who has not been seen since and according to intelligence is to be considered MIA. Imperator Bangar Ruinbringer has also not been seen in the recent weeks, unverified sources claim that the former Blood Legion Imperator was last seen forging farther north. Reports also state that a new enemy has been spotted recently, a before unseen form of icebrood. The Jormag corrupted icebrood who have been referring to themselves as the Ice Legion have been rising from the ranks of Dominion all under Ruinbringer’s command. The United Legions, after gaining control of the southern portion of Drizzlewood Coast, will be looking to push beyond Wolf’s Crossing Bridge up into what is being called the Frost Citadel the main stronghold of the Dominion and Ice Legion. While on the surface this appears to be an advantage to the United Legions this could pose greater risks than ever as the farther north the legions push the closer they get to the looming threat that is the elder dragon Jormag. No comment has been made from the Legion Imperators within the United Legions about the risks that this advancement into enemy territory may entail but with an elder dragon involved nothing is certain.

Title: Introducing skritt fashion reviews

Story: Skritt was told by boss editor lady to seek help from others in writing of fashion column. So Skritt has come to paper reading people to ask for you to send us photos of your shiny shiny outfits. The shinier the better! Skritt will then give a full review of the outfit, the shiny pieces of armor that nice photo people are wearing, and the dyes that they have used. Boss Courica has said that even if the dyes are shiny that we can’t drink them, which skritt thinks is unfair. If you would like skritt to review your best shinies submit the outfit in our submission box. Uh, wherever that is, editor lady didn’t tell me where but skritt hopes that people will find them so we can see all the pretty pretty outfits.Editor’s Note: Outfit submissions can be shared via our tumblr page at https://lions-arch-chronicle.tumblr.com/submitWe promise that Kuritata will have very in depth reviews of outfits (we hope).

Title: An Icy Olive Branch from the Icebrood?

Story: Reports have arrived from reporters Truthseeker and Teekay that a group of seemingly peaceful icebrood were spotted in Hoelbrak within the Great Lodge yesterday. The group was surprisingly peaceful similar to their Svanir counterparts that live within Hoelbrak. The icebrood crowd was peaceful and even willing to give quotes to reporters on the scene. Truthseeker was able to get a very short interview with Svana Dragonbane who when questioned about the dragons and their opinions on them said, “Once, I thought the dragons were a blight. But now I see that Jormag is here to protect us. Ice fortifies, ice protects.” The group departed shortly afterwards toward Frostgorge Sound where there have been common sightings of the Claw of Jormag.

Title: An unbiased travel review of Divinity’s Reach from a Charr

Story: Divinity’s Reach is easily the best city in all of Tyria! The city is easily the most gorgeous with the best infrastructure. The locals are the most elegant and beautiful of all the Tyrians.The city is huge with plenty of shopping opportunities. If you don’t want to spend money you can always craft it yourself at the Dwayna Low Road crafting stations. The most beautiful and just Queen Jennah also resides in the city. The Central Plaza is one of the most beautiful places in the city, just second to the Queen’s throne room. The city is also one of the safest, with Shining Blade members posted throughout. All in all, if you are thinking about visiting Divinity’s Reach I highly recommend it! Plenty of luxury to be had! Editor’s Note: Kittyblog was asked if this review was unbiased as she grew up in Divinity’s Reach, despite being a charr. Her statement was that this was her unbiased opinion but in the interest of fairness we would like to point out her very strong conflict of interest despite how confusing it may be for a travel reporter to have said biases.

Title: The Boasting Hall, Quail on Quail

Story: I know you’ve heard it before but Ascalonian Quail are the best birds in all of Tyria! They are the superior bird due to many things. The first being their beautiful head ornament! It is perfect! You wish you had such a beautiful headpiece! They also lay the cutest little eggs! They are perfect for an egg salad or scrambled eggs OR even hatching more quail! Obviously hatching them and making more is the superior choice of those but all are great! Some quail can even lay an egg a day! Imagine the quail army you could have in a short amount of time! It’d be an army superior to any other animals in Tyria i’m sure! Quail also travel in small flocks and when spooked they majestically burst forward with power and speed to take to the skies(for a moment.) You would be blessed to see such a beautiful display of feathers and power! The Quail’s call is also amazing! Just listen to the male as he calls to his flock! It’s glorious and powerful! Also have you ever seen a small baby quail? It’s amazing! So small and fluffy and perfect for cuddling and carrying with you anywhere you go! If you haven’t seen a baby quail I highly suggest you change that right this moment! Adopt your own Ascalonian Quail today! They are the superior bird of Tyria and deserve all the love and attention we can give them! Editor’s Note: This may hopefully be the last opinion article we do on the birds of Tyria. If anyone at all no matter what the subject is would like to also participate in some non bird related opinions that they would like to share we would absolutely love to hear them. But we also won’t say no to more bird related content if that’s what our readers would like to see. Just please, maybe just a little less bird content.

Title: A true omnivore: I ate like the Commander for a day

Story: What’s the secret to finding the best food Tyria has to offer? According to the famous Pact Commander… try it all. Including, no offense to the honorable Commander, some items I would not strictly classify as edible. To be fair, I did ask for out of the way recommendations, and I certainly got them! Some stops on our tour were fairly respectable, the Meatoberfest in Diessa Plateau, for example, was utterly delightful, but things quickly went in a questionable direction. We tried some Orrian sea urchin, and I have to admit it was enjoyable, if a tad bit salty. Next was coffee with bloodstone, which packed a punch so powerful that I was afraid my soul may have left my body. I think my skeleton may still be suffering the aftershocks and I would recommend avoiding all foods laced with bloodstone dust. After that was enchanted clam bait, inedibly slimy and unappetizing seeing as I am not a clam. Then I was handed something that came from a can and claimed to be flank steak. It tasted more like the faint memory of meat bestowed upon insulation foam. I politely declined when the Commander suggested we consume a clay based Grawl paint to, “Imbue ourselves with its essence.” And suggested we try something more conventional. I was pleased that our next stop was Rata Sum… until I was offered a bag of cat food. With all due respect… I hope the Commander sticks to fighting the elder dragons.

#Lions Arch Chronicle #LAC #GW2 #Guild Wars 2 #Jormag Meetup #guild wars 2 fashion

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smbinfostation · 4 years

Video

youtube

Super Mario Bros. Ice Capades - 1989

To commemorate the SMBIS’s 20th anniversary, here’s the infamous Mario Ice Capades video in high quality. Enjoy!

Original commentary from October 17, 2003

On Thursday, December 7, 1989, ABC presented an Ice Capades special on TV, hosted by Alyssa Milano (of Who's The Boss fame) and Jason Bateman (Silver Spoons; Valerie, Arrested Development). The show had many famous and talented figure skaters, music numbers and comedy acts, including segments featuring Barbie and the Super Mario Bros. This happens to be the 50th Anniversary of the Ice Capades that they taped, as the programs that the hosts and the audience had, with the Mario Bros and Barbie on the back. (The 50th Anniversary Ice Capades Barbie was released at this time also.) When the segment begins, the hosts are backstage when they spot some random people playing Super Mario Bros. Alyssa mentions that she's never played videogames before (*gasp*) and Jason brags to her that he is a master of Nintendo, proclaiming himself to be the "Video Prince." Then he tells her about the plot of Super Mario Bros. [It's interesting to mention that Jason refers to King Koopa as Bowser, because the entire show after this just calls him King Koopa.]

As they talk, they are interrupted when the monitor starts flickering and doing crazy stuff. Jason, who apparently know everything about Nintendo, states that it's a computer virus, which will, and I quote, "release all the evil forces stored up in the computer." @_@ Um...OK, "Mr. Video Prince", whatever you say. Then, who pops up? Yes, it's good ol' King Koopa (NOT Bowser!), played by the late 80's sitcom star Christopher Hewett, a.k.a. Mr. Belvedere. Koopa has released the virus and threatens to take over the world. His plan is very laughable at best, as it implies that a NES can be used to infect computers with deadly viruses, which probably can't happen. That, and he says he doesn't really want the world, but does it anyway because he loves causing trouble. It's nice to have hobbies, I guess.

The Mario set is decent enough. It looks like a 3-D version of the 8-bit SMB1, with pixelated clouds and trees in the background and a castle in the middle. However, it looks way better than what Mr. Hewett had to wear. His costume is very tacky and ugly. He doesn't even have anything over his face, just horribly applied green face paint around his moustache. His horns looked like dangly jesters' bells and he's wearing horrible plaid pants and a geeky red bow tie. On top of that, he's riding on a moving castle. You know the forts at the end of each level of SMB1? Yep, he's roving about on the ice on a castle. o.O

Koopa calls out his minions to destroy different computer parts that NES's don't have, including 2 Green Koopa Troopas, 2 miscolored white Goombas, 1 Hammer Bro (two Troopas and only ONE Hammer Brother?), a Red Paratroopa and a Spiny. The baddies' costumes were based on their official Nintendo designs, though they looked very non-threatening and somewhat cuddly-looking. The Goombas and the Spiny, about a meter or so tall, do seem to be radio-controlled, or have skaters crouched or something inside them. After this, Koopa pompously sings about how evil he is, with his baddies dancing around him...wearing plaid pants...on a moving castle...oooookaaay. Mr. Hewett had a very cultured, polite-sounding British accent, not like Cartoon Koopa's voice at all. He sang pretty well, but the lyrics were shallow and kinda childish. The song is short, thankfully, and only proves that Koopa can create plans for world domination much better than he can sing silly egotistical songs. After this, we see the Princess Toadstool (can't call her Peach yet, as this is still 1989, or all time and space will unravel around us and disappear), who has a huge, horrid mascot-like head and a cliché Mae West-ish Hollywood voice, off to the side with her subjects of plumber pawns with her. Another note is that the Princess's costume is based on the official Nintendo design; she has blond hair, instead of red/brown from the cartoons. Princess Pea....Toadstool, helpless to stop Koopa, then summons the Mario Bros., who for some reason arrived from the sky with the help of their trusty support wires. @_@ [Here's something I just noticed: In the scene when the Princess talks to her people before she calls the Bros. from the heavens, you can see the Marios behind her, with their backs turned to the audience. Sloppy editing.] After being briefed on the situation by Princess, Mario and Luigi, with their very stereotypical Italian accents and oversized, misshapened mascot heads, protect the Maiden in Distress from the horrible men in Koopa Troopa suits. The Princess helps out by sending out carts containing kids from the audience to assist the Bros. Koopa then scoffs at the Marios for sending children to do a man's job. So, one by one, Koopa sends out his legions of dumpy villains to defeat the Bros. However, Luigi dons his airgun/cardboard box out of nowhere and mercilessly kills each bad guy with sparkler blasts that are later added in. The effect of the baddies dying is just crude and leaves one to think how it'll work without the superimposed TV special effects of them just fading away and disappearing to low-budget heaven. Koopa, realizing that his army of extras is failing him, decides to attack the Bros. himself on his mobile fortress with his Spiny. The Marios and the children in the carts surround Koopa, totally ignoring Spiny altogether from the onslaught of death and sparkly insanity. After Mario spouts a remarkably bland joke/pun, the children vanquish the Koopa King with their big foam wrenches and dirty plungers in a blast of sparklers. Cheesey fanfare music plays afterwards, proclaiming the death of the Koopa King, as the children are returned back to the audience, without getting any complementary gift for being a part in the show.

In the end, the Princess, who now just looks like a giant, mutated blow-up doll, congratulates the Marios by giving them the "Purple Plunger for Bravery" or "The Incredibly Cheap Cardboard Hero Prize.". Then, the Bros. have a disgraceful squabble about bragging rights. Note that in all this, Mario does absolutely NOTHING to help out. Luigi killed all the minor foes and commanded the children to kill Koopa. Lazy, lazy Mario... Backstage, the monitor that the hosts were watching all this goes back to normal, then for no reason, Alyssa announces that she wins the game by default, although she doesn't even play it at all, leaving "Jason the Video Prince" in a stupor.

----

More research led me to a site belonging to a Mr. Michael Baroto, a costume designer who made these all the characters for the show, including the baddies, the Bros. and Peach. Apparently, he had only 3 months to make three sets of ten costumes, as well as two other costumes for another show. Seeing that he had to make 30 costumes in the short a time span, this would explain why the Marios and Peach looked so rushed. They don't do his talents justice, however, as his other works, including puppets, dolls and marionettes, are very creative and well-made. There are production photos of the Mario costumes in the previous link. If you ever get to read this, Mr. Baroto, please don't take my negative comments personally. ^^;;;;;;

Here's something I just noticed after watching this over again. Apparently, they deviated from what they'd usually do at a live show and made it extra special for the TV show by adding those "special" effects and camera angles. Also, they taped this when the audience wasn't present, as the seating couldn't been seen at all. They do show some stock footage of people watching all this and laughing at the bad puns, and of the kids getting out of the carts when the show was over, never getting compensated with gifts and whatnot for killing off the "mighty" King Koopa.

However, doing this just made the show worse, as there were obvious editing mistakes. For example, you can see enemies that were killed off later hanging about off to the side when the children return to the audience. In another instance, right at the end, you can see a lone boy sitting on the ice in the background playing with a wrench behind Princess Toadstool before she hands out the awards. Then he disappears in the next shot. And let's not forget the earlier example of the Marios already on stage before they arrive from the sky. Very very sloppy, even for late 80's television. Of course, this was a time when little kids wouldn't care less if the show was crappy or not. It had Mario, and that's all that mattered.

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imagine-darksiders · 5 years

Note

I really liked that “savage quotes that are memes”! Could you please please please do the same for Vulgrim, Abaddon and maybe even Usiel if you have the time? Thank you!

Vulgrim: You would never go so far as to say you and Vulgrim had become close. There was still a very real possibility that he’d turn around and pull your soul out through your teeth if he thought it would bring him a profit.

That being said however, you had discovered over the course of your stay in Haven that the demon merchant had just the right amount of charisma to make you lower your guard. Which was quite possibly why he was still such a successful business ‘man.’ Vulgrim spoke to you and your fellow humans, and once you all learned that he wasn’t about to try anything - not with three, titanic guard dogs subtly watching his every move - you started speaking back.

It took a while, but eventually, you came to realise that you liked Vulgrim and by his own begrudging admission, he didn’t entirely dislike you humans either. You were the only species he’d encountered who didn’t talk to him as though he were leagues beneath you, and way down deep inside, there was a grizzled old part of the demon that appreciated the effort.

You weren’t friends though. Demons don’t have friends, as everyone - himself included - liked to remind you.

So at the end of it all, when the Destroyer and his army suddenly appeared outside Haven and declared their intention to eradicate the last of your species, the sadness you felt at having to leave him behind couldn’t have been because it felt like you were losing another friend. No, surely you were only sad to lose the late night conversations about all the different worlds he’d visited, the jokes - that you aren’t entirely sure were jokes - where he told you how valuable your soul would be and you should really consider giving it to him for safe keeping.

It was during one of your odd, little chats with Vulgrim that you first spotted the Destroyer on the horizon and not long after, you heard Ulthane barking gruffly for everyone to get inside the tree and into ‘the bridge’. Somehow, you knew this moment was a catalyst. You knew you’d be leaving Haven, never to return. And it seemed Vulgrim knew it as well.

“I…can’t believe I’m about to say this, to a human, of all things,” He gives a soft, incredulous laugh and shakes his head, causing the golden sigils dangling from his cowl to clink and sway with the motion. “But you may be the first customer I’ve ever had who’s company I shall miss more than their business.”

It’s perhaps the kindest thing he’s ever said. Which is why you’re doubly floored when, not a moment later, he sinks lower to the ground and casts a quick look out towards the encroaching horde before turning his narrow, green gaze back to you and murmurs, “I suppose this is goodbye then, huma-…Y/n, and the last we shall ever see of one another.”

In all the time you’ve known him, Vulgrim has never once given expression to anything anything other than a mischievous grin or a dramatic pout. Now though, his scaly brow hangs low over his eyes, vestigial wings drooped behind him in much the same way and suddenly, something compels you to step closer to the demon, offer him a wide, albeit bleak smile and say, “Listen, Vulgrim. Whenever there is a meeting, a parting is sure to follow. However, that parting need not last forever. Whether a parting be forever or merely for a short time, well..” You offer him a soft smile. “That’s really up to you.” And then, as an afterthought, you reach out to touch your fingers against the demon’s forearm.

The way Vulgrim’s eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets and stare warily at your hand lets you know that he probably hasn’t received a well-meaning touch in his entire life.

With a last, parting smile, fully aware that you’ve officially run out of time, you retract your hand and throw your demonic compadre a hasty wave before turning and dashing into the tree whilst Vulgrim stares after you, a bewildered frown tugging at his lips.

He doesn’t immediately retreat into his serpent holes, too caught up in trying to remember when - if ever - humans had been so dramatic.

—

Usiel: The hard-nosed, no nonsense angelic commander, Usiel, hadn’t quite known what to think when you fell out of that air duct and landed slap bang on top of his desk, scuppering books, scrolls and inkwells alike, and sending his soldiers into a mild panic, certain they were under attack.

An entire battalion of seasoned warriors surrounded the war table with their swords drawn and pointed at a groaning, human-shaped lump laying in the mess. Shortly afterwards, a shouting match had ensued between you and several of the angels, the latter of whom seemed adamant that they toss you into the river. You, of course, were quite outspoken in your objection to this idea.

After a lot of back and forth, Usiel had brought his fist down hard on the wooden table you still sat on, bringing the arguments to an abrupt end and nearly jolting you out of your seat. He’d then proceeded to pick you up and deposit you outside the warehouse with nothing but a gentle nudge in the direction of Haven and a grumbled, “Run along now, little one.”

You’d been making periodic trips back to the outpost ever since.

Eventually, Usiel grew tired of scolding and shooing you off his desk, so he resigned himself to his newfound role of being an unwilling recipient to all your curious questions.

That, oddly enough, was how you ended up becoming closer to the angelic commander - close enough, at least, that he no longer objected to your presence when he found himself standing alone on the roof, elbows leant heavily on the safety railing and gazing steadily out over the city.

One such night, after you’d snuck out of the safety of the maker tree and made your way up to North End and the shipping yard that sat on the river’s edge, you found yourself reclining in your usual spot next to your usual company, who you discovered was in grim sorts. Turns out, he was having something of an existential crisis. It almost made you glad to know that angels could be just as prone to those as humans.

“We have failed in our duty,” he snapped after you told him you were sure he and his men did everything they could to fight the demonic hordes. “We failed to drive the demon menace back, we failed to hold our ground and now, we are here!” He throws a heavy arm out to the side, only missing knocking you out by a few inches. “Squatting in this…this metal husk of an outpost! I cannot even provide my men with proper shelter. I have failed as a Commander, and as a soldier of Heaven!-” Suddenly, the gigantic angel pauses, his eyes shifting across to peer at you, apparently surprised that he’d just unloaded months’ worth of anguish on a human. He waits for you to ask why he’s telling you any of this, but you only tilt your head to one side and make a curious noise in your throat, wordlessly giving him permission to go on.

All at once, the wind goes out of his sails and he visibly deflates, the feathers on his wings flattening back to a more dignified volume. “And then,” he adds, “I almost threw away what little integrity I had left by aligning myself with…Lust.” He spits the sin’s name out as though it had gotten lodged between his teeth.

“Oh yeah, I heard about that,” you wince, leaning over to give his armoured shoulder a pat.

“Mmm. I can only thank Heaven that the horseman knocked some sense back into me.”

“Ha, quite literally from what I hear.”

“I thought I could save us,” he laments, unaffected by your attempt to lighten the dreary mood heaped upon you both, “I had hoped, at the very least, my Seventh Legion would be restored, and we could return to Heaven with our heads held -” Once again, Usiel cuts himself off with a sigh that matches his impressive age. “- Ah, but it does us no good to dwell on what we wish could have been. Fact remains, we shan’t be returning to the White City, and I cannot help but wonder,” he continues softly, “what will happen to us.”

There’s a shadow hovering over his brilliant, white eyes that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. You watch him lift his head to gaze imploringly at the moon, as if he really hoped to find an answer in its luminous glow. He wouldn’t be the first to try.

After a moment, he drops his head again, this time staring at his own hands. “What will happen to me?” The night turns quiet after his last, muttered statement.

Just then, he’s startled by a small hand stretching over to pat him companionably on the back of his gauntlet and as he looks down at you once more, he sees a solemn smile pushing at your cheeks that makes you appear far older than usual. “You will stay who you are,” you urge him, giving his arm a gentle but insistent shove, “Not a perfect soldier, but a good man.”

It is a sentence the massive, battle-scarred angel has never heard. His hands slide briefly off the railing, shocked that a human had just flipped the script on him. All his life, he’d heard it the other way around.

It should have stung that you don’t consider him a perfect soldier, but it doesn’t. Because - and this hit him like a kick in the teeth - being called a good man somehow felt a whole lot better. He just didn’t know it, because he’d never heard it.

—

Abaddon, holding a sword to your chest: Tell me the location of War, you mortal piece of shit!

You, deadpan: Can you feel your heart burning? Can you feel the struggle within? The fear in me is beyond anything your soul can make. You cannot kill me in a way that matters.

Abaddon, hands shaking, pressing the sword against your heart: I’m not fucking scared of you!

#Vulgrim and Usiel's are so deep and then Abaddon's is just like LD #darksiders #darksiders 3 #source: legend of zelda #source: captain america

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the-bentley · 5 years

Text

The Sacrifice

Crowley was correct, unfortunately. There was some breathing space of a few thousand years before Heaven and Hell decided the time was right for their war. And war it was.

The Earth burned and humanity destroyed in the wake as the two sides worked together to wipe out every last human alive out of fear of what the humans had become capable of through technology. It was no longer a world for angels and demons. Both sides feared a mortal race that was well on its way to becoming divine.

Aziraphale and Crowley could do nothing even though they still stood with humanity. They were only two supernatural beings against an army of millions of them. Eventually both were captured then pressed into service, the attempted executions forgotten. Their sides seemed to think it was a greater anguish to force lover to fight against lover in the next wave of the War to End Everything. With humanity gone, Heaven and Hell had turned on each other.

The Almighty was still absent, not speaking to even the Metatron. The Adversary had not been merely sent back to Hell by Adam Young; he had been erased from existence when the boy told him he was not his father. The angels had been running the show for almost all of human history. Satan’s lieutenants were the ones in charge since that first attempt at world destruction. Chaos reigned supreme.

Beelzebub eventually had been killed by Michael in a dual between the two. Both sides watched her crumple to the ground after a fight that could have been either one’s. Michael was gravely wounded in the process, exiting the war until Raphael could heal her.

Crowley found himself in charge of the Legions of the Damned. Suddenly, he went from traitor to the one who could save them all because he was the only demon with an imagination; the only one who could think outside the box. It wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be enough, ever.

They were overwhelmed from the start – only one third of Heaven Fell in the Great Rebellion. The angels greatly outnumbered them. Demon by demon, Hell started to realize this, understand that even Crowley’s cunning couldn’t pull them out of a sound defeat. Crowley felt wearied by it all. All he wanted was his angel back along with a safe place to spend time with him. Instead he was fighting to keep the carnage down and hopefully come to some kind of cease-fire until Heaven decided it was all or nothing.

He had lost Aziraphale to Heaven, half his troops had been destroyed and it looked like the remaining demons still alive would be joining them very soon. In their anger, their despair, they blazed quite a path through the Army of the Divine. It was a scorched Earth policy that left every angel in their path dead. Heaven had forced Crowley’s hand in that manner. He hated himself for what he had become.

The Legions were under orders to only take one prisoner. Crowley wanted to make sure Aziraphale stayed alive. The best way he could accomplish this was by having him captured then delivered to him so he could personally keep the one he loved safe from harm. If he couldn’t, they would perish together.

The life of any demon who dared to kill him was forfeit. Crowley would make sure that demon died the most painful death possible before he followed Aziraphale to the grave. There would be nothing left in the world for him if the angel was gone.

Currently, he was in hand-to-hand combat with Michael, sure that he wasn’t getting out of it alive when suddenly the Metatron approached to call for a parley. Michael backed off at the appearance of her superior, standing off to the side with head bowed and sword held casually by her side. Crowley was not fooled. It would take the Archangel a fraction of a second to become lethal again.

At the sound of “Parley!” being boomed across the burned and broken battlefield, both sides gathered behind their leaders, the fighting momentarily stopped. Armies stood behind both the Metatron and Crowley, the infernal looking more battered and bruised than the ethereal.

“This ends now,” said the Metatron. “You will be cast back into the Pit and sealed in never to surface to bother us again. If you turn on yourselves and destroy each other down to the last demon, that is not our concern.”

“That’s not much of a parley,” sneered Crowley. “What do we get out of it?”

“You get a Realm of your own. Rule it how you choose.”

“Ok . . . An isolated Realm of my own to rule, which I don’t even want. How nice of you leaving me thousands of bored demons to find busy work for. Thanks so ever much. How is that negotiation, again? You’ve offered me nothing I desire.”

The lieutenants standing behind the Metatron parted, revealing a kneeling figure dressed in white, hands chained, white-blond head bowed low. Crowley immediately reacted.

“Aziraphale! No! What did you do to him?”

“Nothing. He’s just been held as a prisoner. He’s yours now,” replied the Metatron. “It is an ancient Earth custom that the winning side would offer a member of its own tribe to the losing side as a symbol of the end of tensions between the two. We offer you Aziraphale as that traditional sacrifice.”

“No! You can’t. He’s not meant to Fall. He’s the best among you!”

“He will not Fall. Only God can make that happen, but he’s no longer one of us.”

Tortured blue eyes met pained serpentine ones. Not Aziraphale. Not the purest of angels, in terms of belief, condemned to the Pit. This couldn’t happen. Better Aziraphale be separated from him forever than endure eternity in Hell. How could he endure the horribleness that was Hell with that unpolluted belief of his? Crowley might be in charge now, but he was smart enough to know Hell was always going to be Hell. He couldn’t conceivably make it a place Aziraphale could cope with. He shed tears at those thoughts, not concerned that millions of angels and demons could see him doing so.

“And if I don’t accept?”

Michael walked over to Aziraphale, her sword re-ignited. She stood with it poised over his neck. To his credit, Crowley’s angel didn’t flinch.

Aziraphale’s demon did.

“No! You can’t kill him. Please . . .” Crowley begged. “Let him go. I will take him.”

Aziraphale was helped to his feet, unchained and allowed to run over to Crowley, who hugged him tightly. All around them demons screamed as they were sucked into the Earth, never to return. Crowley unwound from the embrace, quickly taking Aziraphale’s hand. Dragging the angel after him, he leapt into the air.

“C’mon! Beat those wings! We’ve got to escape!”

Surprised into action, Aziraphale clumsily flapped at first then wasted no time getting up to steady strokes that helped carry both of them higher. He gave Crowley a confused look. Crowley returned it with a reassuring smile.

“We’ll get killed!” cried the angel.

“Is that so bad? Neither of us is going to like our “reward”. C’mon, angel. We’re off to Alpha Centauri. We should have done this the first time.” Crowley’s grin was feral and his auburn hair fiery in the sunlight as they passed beyond the cloud cover.

He looked down at Aziraphale whose eyes and hair shone like the sky and sun in this utter freedom. Aziraphale smiled slightly. It was a scared smile, but a trusting one. Willingly, he allowed Crowley to guide them up away from the carnage below.

On the battlefield, the Metatron held Michael back from following them and barked at the archers to stand down.

“You’re letting them get away?” demanded Michael.

The Metatron looked serenely at her with eyes the color of deepest metallic gold. “The Seers foresaw this future . . . one of many. I hoped it was the one that would come to pass.”

“Why?” Michael watched them dwindle from a black-robed redheaded demon holding the hand of a white-robed, blond-haired angel to two dots that eventually merged into one before vanishing entirely. “If those two don’t deserve death for all they’ve done, they surely deserve imprisonment for eternity.”

“Yes, but imprisonment means the chance for escape while death means the chance their spirits would eventually be recreated. There are only so many spirits in the world and in the near future, the Almighty will start creating new angels and humans to replace those lost, pulling together the scattered atoms of former spirits. Paradise will be reconstructed. We do not need another pair of freethinkers among us,” replied the Metatron. “Their rogue atoms will no longer be around to trouble the world.”

He surveyed the broken land containing the remaining angel army. “Send them into the ground to kill all the demons. We cannot risk them ever rising again. Without Lucifer’s spirit to resurrect and those two troublemakers gone, the Almighty can re-Create them as proper, obedient angels in the future. As further precaution, the Seraphim will weave a spell around the Realms to prevent our rebellious angel and demon from ever returning.”

Michael nodded. “It sounds like we just might get our Paradise after all.”

“We will. We will make sure of it this time.”

~*~*~

Two balls made up of motes of energy barely held together after being buffeted by the stark radiation of space for the years they traveled floated gently to the beach to manifest into two beings – one with tousled fiery red hair and yellow serpentine eyes, the other with a curly cloud of white-blond hair and sky blue eyes. They still wore the tattered, battle-damaged tunics they left Earth in. The one in black carried a sword, the one in white held nothing.

“We are truly on our own now,” commented Aziraphale.

Crowley squeezed his shoulder in an attempt to reassure him. “We’ll be fine. We survived the trip and it looks habitable here. It should be ok.”

“What about our powers?”

“What about them? I still feel mine. It wouldn’t make sense if we couldn’t use them anywhere in God’s Creation.”

Aziraphale poked a bit at the green sand with his sandaled foot and stared at the riot of colors that made up the various tree leaves. This place was going to take some getting used to. What was he going to do without books? Putting that thought aside, he reached inside of himself to feel for his connection with God. It was still there, mourning for the destruction of Earth.

“I still feel the Divine Grace,” he said to Crowley. “God is mourning the loss of Earth. Why didn’t the Almighty prevent it?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like God talks to demons. Let’s take a look around.”

They headed into the forest with its trees of different coloured leaves. Alien species of bird-like creatures that flew with four wings sang high up in the strange trees. Something furred galloped by on six legs. Unfamiliar squawks and calls surrounded them, making Aziraphale rather nervous, reaching out to grab the demon’s hand. Crowley seemed to take it more in stride.

More deliberate sounds than those of animals moving around came from the east in the forest. Puzzled the pair moved that direction to check it out, Aziraphale holding tightly to Crowley’s hand; Crowley raising the sword in a defensive position as they moved forward carefully. Sentient life was not exactly something he was expecting.

Aziraphale ignited the blade, making Crowley almost jump.

“Don’t do that!” he hissed. “You almost scared me to death. I’m on edge enough as it is here.”

“It’s impossible to scare you to death, my dear.”

“Shh. Just prepare some offensive magic, ok?”

Aziraphale crept up to peek through some pink-leaved bushes. He blinked in complete surprise. “Crowley, it’s a village.”

Crowley pushed aside branches to view the primitive but comfortable-looking village complete with humanoid creatures that greatly resembled Earth’s humans. He almost rejoiced. They were not here alone and he found that comforting for some reason.

“Life finds a way, right Aziraphale? I forget what film that’s from, but it’s not exactly important anymore, is it?” Crowley grinned. “A whole new set of humans free to develop as they choose.”

“No ethereal plane here,” commented Aziraphale. “I can’t move my wings into it. That means no Heaven or Hell. Do you think God wanted to start again without interference? Or is it part of the ineffable Plan that we’re here? Are we meant to guide them?”

Crowley thought a moment. “No. They’re meant to guide themselves. We should keep our distance and watch from afar for a while. C’mon. Let’s head a few miles away from here and make our own camp for the night. Hopefully there are no apple trees on this planet; I’d like to avoid those, too.”

Aziraphale gasped in excitement, pulling at Crowley’s tunic. “Crowley, look! They have wings! We’ll fit right in.”

And the humans did – feathered wings of various colors and shades within those colors. They spotted every color of the rainbow, silvers, even some off-white ones. With a little help from their powers, they could change theirs enough to blend in, if they so desired.

“I know, we can’t guide them, but we can live among them like we did on Earth.” Aziraphale got a far-off look in his sky blue eyes. “We still get to be a part of it all over again. Imagine what they are going to be this time around without the threat of destruction hanging over their heads.”

Crowley laughed and kissed his angel. “You’re going to invent books if they don’t, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale’s sweet, sly smile told he just might.

They took each other’s hands, their fingers lovingly interlinking. Together they headed off to find a patch of paradise they could call their own until they were ready to introduce themselves and integrate with the winged humans.

#good omens fanfic #goodomens fanfiction #good omens fan fiction #crowley #aziraphael #crowley x aziraphale

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rankakiu · 5 years

Text

Thoughts of the Droid: Terminator: Dark Fate (2019)

Hello, people of Tumblr! How was your week? As always, I hope very well. People, this time I bring to you all my review and opinions about the new installment of the T-800 franchise: Terminator: Dark Fate. A film that has raised some controversy.

And it is not for less, since Terminator is one of the most beloved sagas within science fiction. Curiously, even after 35 years, the general public and especially fans of the saga, only love the first two deliveries; the remaining four, including Dark Fate, have them in very low esteem. Being honest with you, almost a week after its release, it was very frequent to see my YouTube recommendations critical of this movie, all of them very destructive, stating that Dark Fate was the worst film in the Terminator saga. Well, your favorite friend and reviewer Rankakiu has already seen that movie. Is it really a disaster? Or are we facing a misunderstood masterpiece? Well, let's go to the review to find out.

WARNING: NOT SPOILER FREE. Read at your own risk

Starting with the review, what did I think of the movie? Short answer: it is a passable movie and you can have a fun time watching it. But nothing else. Now let's go into details.

Characters: Without a doubt it is very pleasant to have back actor Arnold Schwarzenegger and actress Linda Hamilton playing their iconic roles of the T-800 and Sarah Connor, respectively. And although Hamilton had a long time not to return to her character, that does not affect at all, since she has shown not only her acting quality by reincarnating a warrior woman like Sarah Connor, but also demonstrates that she was born for that role. At no time in the movie did Hamilton's performance seem indifferent, but quite the opposite, since at all times she felt like Sarah Connor. With a reborn resentment towards machines and a more experienced soldier, but still Sarah Connor despite everything.

The same goes for the good Arnold Schwarzenegger, although in his case it is already easier for him to play the T-800 again, since he has participated in almost all the films. Even with that, like Hamilton, Schwarzenegger was born for the role of the 101 model of Cyberdine systems. Apart from the above, the film is responsible for humanizing the T-800 and thereby answering the question of whether a machine can develop attachment and affection towards humans.

Certainly previous films like Terminator 2: Judgment Day and Terminator: Genysis had already answered that question; however, in Terminator: Dark Fate, it gives another approach, differentiating itself from the aforementioned films and I liked that a lot. Both actors make the film much more accessible to watch and make the experience much more pleasing to me.

On the other characters, the truth be told, they are not (that) badly written. Of course, I feel they need that little spark called charisma to become characters that were much more memorable. One of the most rescued new characters, in my very personal opinion, is the character of Grace, played by actress Mackenzie Davis, who, in my opinion, did a good job of playing a warrior woman, enhanced with cyber technology, turning it into a kind of cyborg. You could say that his role represents a bit what was the character of Kyle Reese from the first Terminator movie, being a soldier with the mission to protect Dani Ramos. Something also to highlight, are the moments of action of the character, where we can see her fight hand in hand with a Terminator, being almost at the same level.

Grace clearly possesses reflexes, speed and strength well above a common human; However, this power can only be used in a short time and requires a special serum to keep her cyborg body functioning properly. That little detail pleased me a lot, since you have a lethal soldier, but not with too much exaggerated power, and besides, these restrictions of power are well founded within the story. While Grace doesn't leave the conventional clichés of being a strong woman and a war-hardened soldier, at least Davis's interpretation pleased me quite a bit, building a pretty decent character. If they really gave her a better-worked script, I'm sure Davis can surprise us.

On the other hand, we have actress Natalia Reyes, playing the character of Daniella "Dani" Ramos. Interestingly, in this character we see a kind of amalgam, a story that combines the situations experienced by the characters of Sarah Connor and John Connor. Dani's life, so normal and common, suddenly changes radically and without the possibility of returning to her previous way of life, when an artificial intelligence sends a machine to exterminate her (representing Sarah from Terminator). As soon as she knows the destiny that awaits her, she has no choice but to fight and accept her destiny as a protector and leader of humanity against the machines (adopting the role of the various incarnations of John Connor).

In my opinion she is a decent character and some may consider that her evolution as a character happens too quickly, but in my case, I think that is justified, since Dani Ramos is in the situation that she has to mature quickly and become a warrior, or else her death will be insured. If you ask me, Natalia did a good job, but unfortunately her character has a somewhat annoying approach, being more the fault of the script than anything else.

Of course, I cannot finish this point without mentioning the antagonist: the Terminator Rev-9, a model created by artificial intelligence called "Legion", which has created one of the most advanced terminator models ever seen. It has similar properties to other terminators seen above, particularly the T-1000 and the T-X (Terminatrix), only here it proves to be much more advanced than the mentioned models.

If there is something that has characterized the Terminator franchise, it is without a doubt, the creativity that they put on the various models, each with amazing capabilities that more than one military contractor would like to see in reality. And the Rev-9 is no exception. I certainly liked that ability that has to be divided into two completely autonomous machines, since with that ability, it can attack the same target from two flanks, or it can attack different targets at once.

It also highlights the enormous ease that Rev-9 has of hacking systems, computers and unmanned vehicles to search for and eliminate targets, as well as being able to infiltrate with great ease and above all to replicate a complex range of human emotions, in order to go unnoticed. A highly lethal machine that should not be underestimated and whose antagonism in the film pleased me quite a bit. Maybe not at the level of the legendary T-1000, starring Robert Patrick. But at least the interpretation of Gabriel Luna does not go unnoticed.

Story: Well, where to start? If you ask me, the story presented in this movie is something like a double-edged sword. On the one hand, the story of how Grace and Rev-9 travel to the past to look for Dani Ramos and the last one seeing how her life changes dramatically, to later accept her destiny, results in a fairly decent story in my opinion. The problem is that history has certain interesting ideas, but in the end it does not know how to develop any in a satisfactory way. Certainly, I think they made the same mistake as Terminator: Genysis, basically leaving a lot of doubts and confusion in the viewer.

I think one of the biggest mistakes in the movie was precisely to eliminate John Connor, to be replaced by Dani Ramos. Look, I'm not against a woman leading an army of humans against the machines, but you have to keep in mind that in the previous five films, John Connor was always established as the leader of the resistance; That, coupled with the fact that it is a very abrupt change and without argumental justification, is not difficult to understand why many did not like this change at all.

In a personal opinion, I think it would have been better if they kept John Connor alive and at the same time, to interact with Dani Ramos, so that both of them would end up becoming the resistance leaders. Or, that John Connor died in adulthood, in the middle of the battle and that before he died, it was he himself who designated Dani Ramos as his successor in the resistance.

Certain doubts also arise as the plot develops. As for example: which of the two artificial intelligences sent all those terminators that ended up destroyed by Sarah Connor? If it was Skynet, it makes no sense, since in the end it did its job of killing John Connor. If it was Legion, why so far did it occur to send a Rev-9 to exterminate Dani Ramos? And since we're in those, how is it possible that the T-800, the one who killed John, knew exactly when a Terminator arrived? And how did Legion artificial intelligence originate? Grace explains how her world ended up destroyed by Legion, but never explains how it becomes an menace, if it was an artificial intelligence that acquired its own consciousness, or a kind of virus that altered it computer structure, something that explains Legion's origin.

In this regard, one might also ask, if the events that prevented the emergence of Skynet in Terminator 2, altered the original timeline. In any case, it must be stinking that no matter what Sarah Connor does, there will always be an artificial intelligence that will seek to destroy humanity.

Another mistake made by the film at the level of story is precisely to tell the same story that we have seen throughout the franchise: an artificial intelligence sends a machine to eliminate the future leader of humanity. The resistance, meanwhile, sends a soldier capable of fulfilling the mission and having a link with that leader. After a series of battles, they defeat the evil machine, while the person destined to lead mankind becomes aware of the role he will have in the future.

Although as I said, the story that tells the growth of Dani Ramos, is not bad and in fact, the character reaches its culminating evolution in the battle at the hydroelectric dam, where our heroes join with everything to end the Rev-9 , being one of the most exciting and successful sequences of the film.

Visuals & special effects: Without a doubt the best of the film. And it is really amazing that they could rejuvenate the characters of Sarah Connor, the T-800 and especially the character of John Connor. Similarly, the special effects are fascinating when it comes to showing the Rev-9 model in all its splendor, particularly where the Rev-9 shows its liquid metal state, much like a kind of live pitch, whether for regenerate or to divide into two combat units, or to create white weapons. The effects also stand out in themselves, by showing the conflict between the human race and Legion artificial intelligence, where you can see Terminators units, similar to the Rev-9 mentioned, only that they have more beastly forms and are more implacable. Similarly, the atmospheres about a destroyed world have that perfect apocalyptic atmosphere, a practically unrecognizable world, where humanity has to fight day by day against mechanical beings, ultimately lethal.

Action: Another remarkable aspect and also the best that the film offers. For example, the fight between Grace and the Rev-9 at the car plant is a good-to-face choreographed melee battle, enough to make it a memorable battle. It is an intense combat, full of strength and speed, where both fighters use their skills to end their adversary. I also highlight another scene, being this, the final battle in the hydroelectric dam, where our protagonists come together to definitively end the Rev-9, being really a scene of thrilling action, full of adrenaline at every moment. And while I recognize that there are unlikely action scenes, at least they are quite acceptable, since these are not very exaggerated. At least, in my opinion, it is worth watching the movie for the action scenes. In conclusion, Terminator: Dark Fate, is a film that will not be a masterpiece, but neither is it a horrible product. At most, it is a passable movie that can take your boredom away. However, being a product that conforms to more of the same, telling you the same story over and over again will undoubtedly become something totally dispensable. You watch the movie, nothing happens. You don't watch the movie, anyway, you don't miss much. Therefore, I give this movie 2.5 of 5 Revs-9. Sadly and ironically, Terminator: Dark Fate is waiting for a dark destiny: to be placed next to its three predecessors in the vault of oblivion.

Greetings

Rankakiu

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korkrunchcereal · 6 years

Text

Past Mistakes

“Ah it is so good to be home.” Aurelian groaned as he stretched out in his cushioned chair overlooking the Indaris gardens, sighing in content. He had been gone for two weeks, having only just returned late the night prior. The campaign on the Broken Shore had been proceeding well enough that Aurelian could afford several days to check on how affairs had been going at home, and of course have a little rest and relaxation.

“My lord.” Cyvar’s acknowledgment behind Aurelian was blunt as it often was, being answer enough. Aurelian had called for his second to no doubt fill him in on what had happened in his absence, and to update him on his regent’s rule.

“Oh do come stand beside me, Cyvar. I’d rather not have to turn my head. Sore neck and all, you know how fighting can be.”

“Not as of late…” Cyvar muttered.

“What was that?”

“Clearing my throat, my lord.” As Cyvar moved to stand beside Aurelian, who was giving his second an unconvinced stare.

“Mhmm…”

“Shall I have the servants fetch you some wine, my lord.” Aurelian paused to consider that before nodding.

“Please do…and they can skip the glass. I just need the bottle.”

“Rough two weeks, my lord?” Cyvar turned, snapping his fingers towards the door. One of the servants who had been standing slack immediately straightened to attention. “Wine; bring up a bottle of the Illonian Red.” The servant nodded, taking off and leaving a distancing echo of footfalls.

“That’s one word for it. I’d use hellish. Dead earth and fallen ash, fel rivers and more demons than you can count. Ugh, the damn things are everywhere on the Broken Shore. One battle I was up to my knees in demon corpses!”

“If it’s their bigger demons, that wouldn’t be too much.” Aurelian glared at Cyvar, who couldn’t help but smirk. “I am sure however it was a great horde of demons.” He had to try and at least keep Aurelian’s ego in check somewhat.

“You’re lucky I’ve known you for so long, Cyvar.”

“All your life, my lord.” He corrected. It was true; Cyvar had served his father even before Aurelian was born, and quite early in Aurelian’s life had begun serving him.

“Either way, yes it was a great horde.”

“I am sure, my lord.”

“Fighting on the Broken Shore however made me realize something.” Aurelian’s ears perked, the twitching causing his jewelry to clang lightly as he heard rushed footsteps approaching. Cyvar turned, watching the servant from before bring forth a large bottle of red wine. Cyvar grabbed it from the man, before offering it to Aurelian.

“My lord.”

“Ah, thank you.” Aurelian snatched it from Cyvar’s hands, pulling the cork off with his teeth before guzzling down the wine. Light it had been rough, judging from how much Aurelian had downed in seconds. With a satisfied smacking of his lips Aurelian pulled the bottle away, letting out a sigh. Cyvar pointed to the corner of Aurelian’s lip, offering out a handkerchief from his pocket.

“A little wine, my lord.” Aurelian grumbled, taking it to dab at his lip. “Now, you realized something?’

“Yes, I did. I realized that…light that wine is good. Thank goodness I own the damn winery, or I’d be penniless buying it all. Anyways, I realized just how vast the demon army really is. Being on the front lines like that…well you feel practically minute in comparison.”

“You? Feeling minute? Truly the demons really are endless.”

“Ha, ha. I’m serious, Cyvar. The war with the Legion; it hasn’t reached Quel’thalas. I pray it never does, but we have to be ready for it. None of the other lords have seen what I’ve seen. I’ve been across the stars on other worlds, where the legions grip is iron.”

“The volcano world?” Aurelian nodded at that. Some months prior Aurelian had aided in rescuing quite a number of his comrades from imprisonment by the demons on a Legion world linked with Azeroth, which Aurelian had described as a ‘volcanic wasteland of ash and terrible heat that he never wanted to return to ever again’. He and a small handful of others had succeeded in rescuing his allies, but otherwise he spoke very little of it. Cyvar had taken it as a sign he didn’t want to talk about it, and so never pressed further.

“Yes. Just…we need to be ready should the worst happen. Speaking of, how have things been in my absence? Calithielwen has been avoiding me, I think. The castle isn’t burned down, so I can only assume it’s been good news.”

“Not quite, my lord.” Aurelian raised a brow at that, turning to eye Cyvar up and down.

“Oh? Well go on.”

“There have been incidents within the towns of the Crescent Hills. There has been an increase of criminal activity. Several smithies have been robbed or been burned down, several merchants have been bullied by ‘ruffians’ and even the Arrowmere family have been robbed.”

“Really now? Any idea who the perpetrators are?”

“No, my lord. The town guards have been investigating, but they’ve found nothing. I did however find evidence black powder was used to destroy one of the smiths.” At that Aurelian’s interest piqued up.

“Black powder? Who do we know in the Crescent Hills that uses black powder?”

“Smugglers, maybe? I’ve had people look into the various businesses and illegal dealings, but so far nothing has turned up. Black powder isn’t as common here as it is in Kalimdor or even Silvermoon.”

“No, it isn’t. Is there anything linking these robberies?”

“The smiths were Hasarel and Garvil.”

“Both of them? They supplied our forces, did they not?”

“Yes and you personally have invested heavily into them, according to Solidus.”

“And the Arrowmeres…hmm..” Aurelian hummed to himself, pondering over that. “Someone’s growing bold. Could it be the Unbidden?”

“I am not sure, my lord. They targeted businesses supported by you, however. It may just be coincidence, but I’ve never believed in such.”

“No, you haven’t.” It’s probably why Aurelian was still alive, though he’d not admit that out loud. “What does Calithielwen say on the matter?”

“She’s in agreement with me that it’s outside interference and believes I should continue to investigate. Hasarel has ‘requested’ assistance from the house in rebuilding his shop. Calithiel believes we shouldn’t.”

“And why is that?”

“Someone targeted his shop. If we simply build another one for him what’s to say that won’t be burned down as well?”

“A good point, but what sort of example do we set by not aiding our people in such matters? We must maintain a public image. Have Solidus send me an estimate on the cost to rebuild Hasarel’s shop and replace his supplies. Also make sure the bailiff has men on high alert.”

“Very well, my lord. Shall I inform Calithiel of your decision?”

“No, I shall. Besides, it’s not as if I have to. She’s my regent, not the lord of this house. I don’t have to run my decisions by her.” Aurelian sighed, stretching again as he loosely carried the bottle in his left hand. “This is what I mean by ensuring we are ready. No doubt these are people in a panic over the potential end of the world. The nobles probably haven’t helped…” he paused, snapping his fingers. “I got it.”

“My lord?”

“Cyvar, when was the last time I’ve thrown a ball.”

“Not for almost a year.”

“Has it truly been that long? I’m aghast at that. In a month’s time, id like to have a ball to celebrate our liberation of Suramar.”

“Is now really a good time for such?”

“It’ll distract the nobility from the war. If they’re happy and we continue our lives as normal, the common folk will believe there is nothing to worry about. Besides, I ahh…” he paused, coughing sheepishly. “I may have lost a bet.”

“You? Losing a bet? I’m shocked. Dare I ask my lord what this bet was?”

“Well to be more precise, I lost a duel.” Cyvar blinked in surprise, tilting his head as he spoke.

“You lost a duel? Who on Azeroth beat you in a duel, I wonder, and what in the world was the bet?”

“I know, I was shocked too. She was a far better swordsman then I gave her credit for. The bet was if she won, I would invite her to one of the Indaris balls.”

“And if you won…?”

“Oh I didn’t make a bet for if I won. She’s a commoner and id have felt guilty taking anything from her in an assured victory. At least, I thought it was.”

“Well, who is this mysterious duelist that bested you?”

“Her name is Sare’wen. She’s a woman of the Crescent Hills, apparently. Small world it would seem. Have you heard of her by chance?” Cyvar blinked at that, and for a moment Aurelian could have sworn the man looked near petrified.

“Sare’wen? I can’t say that I have.”

“Well I want you to look into her as well. I want to know who in the world taught her how to fight; the woman beat me when I used my left hand and kept her own when I used the right. No one keeps their own when the right comes out.” Aurelian looked down at his right hand, then took a drink from the wine in his left.

“I shall see what I can find out, my lord…though the matter of the robberies is perhaps a greater priority.” Aurelian waved his hand dismissively as he pulled the bottle away, frowning.

“Yes yes, of course. Find that out first, then find out about Sare’wen. She’s a blonde-haired woman of youthful appearance and beautiful eyes. They’re familiar, but I can’t quite place them. I must have seen her in passing before, for she is quite pretty.”

“I shall look into the matter, my lord. Is there anything else?”

“Hmm? Oh, no no. Feel free to carry on with…whatever business you were doing before I called for you.”

“Investigating, my lord.”

“Yes yes, go investigate. And remind me to plan this ball!” Cyvar gave a low bow, before leaving Aurelian alone to his bottle of wine. Aurelian grumbled to himself, bringing the bottle to his lips again. Nothing. He blinked, pulling the bottle away and eyeing it with an irritated look. It was empty already.

“Ugh, gone already. Servants! More wine!”

“So you planned the ball then?”

“Yes, it was the one Veridan attended. I can’t say he was much of a dancer, though.” Aurelian winked at the large, armored man as he wrapped an arm around his chair, crossing his leg and turning sideways in it. Veridan gave a derisive snort but did not answer.

“Yes, so I had heard. Now, you said Cyvar was investigating further the matter with the robbers?”

“Indeed, as well as a personal errand for me.”

“Personal?”

“A woman, nothing you need concern yourself with.”

“In this matter, Lord Indaris, I must concern myself with everything. Speak.” Aurelian rolled his eyes, pulling his lip up in annoyance.

“Oh very well. A woman beat me in a duel and I wanted to learn who her instructor had been. She was my guest at the ball. I’m sure Veridan told you about her.”

“Ah yes, her.” There was a strange edge to Balasar’s tone, but Aurelian did not press the matter. “Now, what did Cyvar find?”

“Well, if I recall correctly he was away for a few days with a lead on the black powder…”

@airiannagrace

#World of Warcraft #Aurelian Indaris #Tales of the Gilded lands #Skullcrusha writing

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paramaline · 4 years

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Hi im so sorry but the terror: new vegas is so up my alley it's insane. Please elaborate if you have more thoughts

omg DO NOT APOLOGIZE i LOVE to talk abt terror: new vegas even if i’ll never actually do anything with it. it started with the idea of cornelius hickey as courier six - the Confirmed Bachelor and Cannibal perks were made for him!! a dirty rowdy boy stabbing his way across the mojave desert, playing the factions off each other while scheming for a No Gods No Masters ending. like the characterization i want to keep is that he's got critiques of the existing power structures that are Not Wrong, but is he really offering a workable alternative or is he making himself into another petty tyrant? but also i just want to let the little rat wear benny's coat and have a fun time at the ultra luxe

tozer as the boone character, a depressed ex-NCR sniper who gets roped into being hickey's sidekick. (william heather aka Brain Guy as carla???) goodsir as arcade gannon - at first he’s reluctantly willing to work with hickey, despite not really trusting or liking him, because he thinks hickey might be the only pathway towards an independent new vegas. (goodsir’s death reminds me SO much of arcade’s bad ending if he gets enslaved by the legion 😭)

i think most of the other characters are part of an NCR army regiment that tried to pull a sneak attack on the legion, but instead just got stranded in hostile territory on the other side of the colorado river. they're running low on food and ammo and medicine (radiation sickness instead of scurvy!) but the NCR is already overstretched and in no rush to send anyone to help them, so they're all slowly coming to the realization that they're the discardable pawns of a clumsy imperialist war machine. kind of like camp forlorn hope, but worse. For Our Economy! franklin gets eaten by a yao guai. crozier gets a "you have become addicted to whiskey" popup message. veteran ranger fitzjames with cool long coat and a rocket launcher on his shoulder, but OH NO he's starting to show the first signs of ghoulification - the end of vanity indeed!

i'm not sure what i want to do with silna - there are a lot of things about her that match up really well with christine royce! but also i like the idea of her as just an average person who was living in the mojave before the NCR and the legion showed up and made a mess of things - to them it's a dangerous disputed frontier but for her it's like. Dude I Just Live Here, Fuck Off. anyway THANK YOU, this crossover has an audience of like five people max so it’s a delight to find someone to talk about it with, please do share any thoughts or ideas you might have!!!!

#patrolling the mojave almost makes you wish you were on a doomed polar expedition #might keep arcade's 'idealistic but increasingly disillusioned medic' aspect for goodsir but give his Secret Tragic Backstory to fitzjames #'there have been a few good men along the way but lovers make poor confidants' feels like a james line #the terror //#fonv //#whitecedarmp3 #terror new vegas

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happyorogeny · 7 years

Text

The Bodyguard Rota

(~1400 words)(Illidari, Illidan, Sentinax)(tw violence, heights, falling)

It had been decided that Lord Illidan needed a bodyguard. No less than two people, no more than four.

It had also been decided he best not know about this.

The last time Illidan had been alone they’d returned to find him dead! Clearly his warrior’s spirit was so fierce that he didn’t know when to retreat from combat. The Broken Shore was a dangerous place, and the Illidari had gone to a lot of work to return their beloved leader from the Nether.

Thus, he needed a handful of warriors nearby to leap into action should he be accosted by assassins or other nefarious agents.

Like Maiev.

However, their Lord and Master was a largely solitary and self-sufficient creature. He would be aghast at the thought of his hunters protecting him rather than battling together on the frontlines or raiding demon camps.

Thus, they would keep the bodyguard rota a secret. Their war efforts would not suffer on account of missing a few people. The Illidari had learned much in their Lords absence, and gathered more hunters into each wing of their army. Jace wasn’t the only mage anymore, Allari wasn’t the only soulweaver.

They were so many and so strong that Kayn could set them on a rotating placement. Each fighter spent two weeks on the front lines and combat heavy areas before been brought back for camp defense. The injured were also pulled back, least their slowed reactions lead to their deaths. This had initially been met with some resistance. There were no merry chases to be had, guarding the camp, and no jolly bloodshed in counting out rations. But soon it became a badge of pride to heal up completely, to get strong and fat so as to launch themselves with fresh vigour at the demon incursions.

Lord Illidan certainly seemed pleased to have left a strike force and returned to an army.

Today the Guard consisted of Asha, Sevis and one of the second generation hunters, a Sin’dorei named Thal’asi. He had never been on Guard before and took his duty very seriously, squinting at every suspicious rock along the trail. Illidan made his home just outside the main Illidari camp, in an immense hollow yew tree. The gnarled deadwood stood half way up the lee-side slope of a rocky mountain side, sheltered from the cold sea winds and prying eyes alike.

Asha directed them to settle on an adjacent slope and huddle down.

Illidan stepped out from his den and immediately moved into pre-flight checks, stretching out his wings and lifting his feet so as to rotate and loosen his ankles. Sevis looked on with a wistful expression. Every Illidari dreamed of true flight. A rare few had even achieved it, although no one could take to the sky with the same mastery as Lord Illidan.

The main hunting party was preparing itself with much glee in the camp below, feinting at one another and dashing to and fro so as to warm up and show off. Illidan watched them a moment before crouching and launching himself upwards, vanishing into the low slung fel-clouds pouring in over the mountains.

The three guards set off, Asha guiding them in a deadly sprint along the narrow goat trail. The Spires were a jagged geological oddity, towering above the Shore and almost of a level with the low-flying demon ships. Loose rock crumbled as they darted perilously close to sheer cliffs, weaving through river caves and gliding across crevasses marked by previous guard-teams. Their claws found purchase on even the smoothest surface and their ability to jump twice their own height let them clear rock falls and scree slopes with ease.

More importantly, it let them climb till they were level with the Sentinax. The ship hovered low over the Isles like some great hunting bird. But today they would regret such arrogance.

Asha was the most experienced of them and tilted her head up as they ran, tracking Illidan through the felstorm. The magic-charged lightning could dazzle even their sight, but between flashes they could see a familiar silhouette making its way gradually through the storm, towards the hulking outline of the demon sky-ship. The Sentinax would shoot down at any non-demon flyer it registered. But the storm confused the ship’s sensors as surely as it overwhelmed the Illidari.

Thal’asi reached to touch his pocket, where he carried a summoning crystal. Using that would materialise his mount in front of him. Sevis snapped his teeth at him, meaning stop.

“But he’s up there alone!”

“Flying to him will draw the demon’s attention. We wait.” Asha perched on a chunk of fallen ice and flapped her wings, dusting them both with snow. Sevis hissed. He disliked snow and its cold consistency, the way it inexorably covered the world.

Overhead, Illidan glided up into a blooming tower of fresh stormclouds and begun to climb vertically, spiralling so as to remain within the blinding luminescence of the stormhead. The churning stormwinds within would buoy a flyer up, so long as they were alert to sudden down drafts and clusters of hail.

Their target lay aboard the Sentinax. Specifically, on the open platform atop the ship. The demon admirals liked to look down on the worlds they burned, directing the movements of their troops and relishing the ashes of dying civilisations.

“He’s falling!” Thal’asi hissed, flapping his wings. Asha cooed at him reassuringly for she knew that their master was not falling but diving, accelerating down towards the eredar like a rocket. The demon turned as Illidan rammed into him and knocked the two of them off the ship, tumbling towards the canyon floor below.

This was the part where their job began in earnest. The three Illidari moved as one, letting themselves fall into the open air. It took much training for a hunter to forget their instinctive fear of falling. Up here with the mountain wind in their face, it almost felt like flying. They spread their wings wide and circled, peering down at the combatants.

The eredar had height and weight on Illidan, but their Master was more cunning. Though the demon immediately sprouted arcane wings of its own, Illidan sent them both into a dizzying spin to prevent them leveling off. He battered the demon with his horns and kicked savagely at the eredar’s wings and legs, sinking his talons into its armour and shaking it like a rat so as to prevent the eredar bringing any magic to bear upon him.

The goal was to get the demon on the ground. Down there, the hunting party waited ready to finish the demon off. The Legion became ever more chaotic as they carved great swathes through their leadership. If they were killed fast enough, it didn’t matter than a demon could return.

But Illidan was so taken up with fighting the demon general that he had no attention to spare for the minions, already streaming out of the Sentinax aboard dire bats.

Asha chirruped and the three of them folded their wings in, swooping out of the clouds to tackle the succubus riding to the rescue on direbats. Asha dodged a cracking whip and sliced right through the leather tack straps with a swipe of her claws. The succubus shrieked as the saddle slipped off her mount, carrying her with it.

Sevis dived after her. A waste of time. Succubus possessed wings but they were poor fliers- besides, the hunting party frothed over the mountainside below. Any demon that fell from the sky would be torn asunder by their waiting claws.

Thal’asi in the meantime had taken to sky-clearing like a natural, leaping from bat to bat and slicing through leather and metal harnesses to send their demonic riders falling to their deaths.

Did they realise how close they were to the ground? Asha thrilled out a warning and the two men disengaged, spreading their wings wide and gliding towards the ground. The eredar had survived his fall and now battled against Illidan and the Illidari of the hunting party. They swarmed over him fearlessly, weighing down his arms and flapping their wings around his head so as to distract him. Such was their concentration that none of them could be trusted to notice the Sentinax demons streaming down to their leaders defence.

Asha gathered herself and tackled a Sentinax felguard who had made it to the ground.

A demon lord did not die easily. But neither did Illidan, and neither did they. And it was their job to keep it that way.

#fanfic #weekend writing #world of warcraft #writers on tumblr #illidari #illidan stormrage #Sentinax #heights #mountains #cliffs #falling #tw violence

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cuthie · 5 years

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Omru: Dazar’alor Roleplay

(( This is just copy/pasted discord roleplay that I’m archiving for my own records. Might be a boring read or too long for most. But then again, who’s reading my short stories anyways, right? Just me. :p )) Dazar’alor, city of gold, capital of Zuldazar and once the center of the world spanning Zandalari empire of old. The ancient troll home somehow survived the Sundering, survived the prophesied sinking of the island, the Cataclysm, the Burning Legion and threats both foreign and domestic over thousands of years. In modern day it was a melting pot of all Troll races, each tribe carving out it’s own nook, bringing new cultural celebrations, rituals and perspectives. Trade was booming, crime was at an all time low, and the King was beloved by all… Most.. Many… Even with the loss of Rezan, Loa of Kings, the empire withstood the power of the gargantuan C’Thraxxi warbringer, Mythrax. Furthermore, the city banded together with the Horde to rid Azeroth of the Old God Titan experiment, G’huun the blood God. Nothing and no one could keep this city nor it’s people down for long.

And then came the Alliance. Jaina Proudmoore led the Kul’tirans and the factions of the Alliance into the city, tricking it’s armies into leaving the King’s side for the swamps of Nazmir. Neigh defenseless, the Zandalari lost thousands. Their soldiers, their navy, and even their king. It was a bloodbath the likes they had never known.

Time passed, people trying to move on with their lives, and the former Princess now Queen of the Zandalari formally joined the Horde, seeking retribution. From those descended of royal blood, all the way down to the most lowbourne of guttersnipes, depression and anguish was palpable in the once bright city of riches. Joining the Horde would provide a small comfort, but the Bilgewater Cartel seemed capable of stimulating economic growth. Their own goblin designed ships weren’t as glamorous nor dependable as the Zandalari fleet had been, but with them they brought imports and money. It was one such merchant vessel that Omru had made contact via Goblin engineered walkie. His ticket to the lush jungle paradise of Durotar.

For a brief moment the people near the docks had a flicker of, not hope, but at least mild curiosity and entertainment. Off in the distance, a topless Zandalari man held onto a viney set of reigns attached to not one but two large speckled sea turtles as he stood atop their shells. Wind rushing through his beard, the troll laughed, accompanied by loud acoustic music. On the troll’s shoulders was our beloved fox boy, Omru, strumming away on his father’s guitar. As zany as the idea had been, Om knew that the only way to combat his family curse was to, of course, hire a navigator. That man’s name was Ja’ku. Ja’ku Spearo.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_b_53XplhZE

By the time the duo had made it to the docks, a small crowd had gathered to see what the spectacle was all about. For the first few minutes, the pair were all smiles, Omru hopping down onto the wooden floorboards, still playing his music. Then came an untimely, “Ey, dat mon owes me money!”

Then another. “Ja’ku, you mudda fugga, ya dare show you face round’ere!”

Ja’ku raised his hands defensively, “Now, now. I dun mean no ‘arm in- Oh, what be dat ova dere!?”

Predictably, a handful of accusers turned to look and in that split second, Ja’ku was off on foot, running further into the city, leaving Omru there to suffer the eyes of the crowd.

“Uh… I’m not with him. Just.. Passing through…”

-- “No… I don’t get it. Please explain to me again why this is ‘proper animal husbanding’ as you put it?”

The ebony haired Sin’dorei boy blew an annoyed breath out through pursed lips and rolled his eyes dramatically. Returning his haughty glare to the Vulpera girl with the deep red fur and too much eyeliner sitting on the crate, he shook his head.

“Listen fuzzball, there’s a lot of things someone like you just won't understand. It’s not your fault, you’ve basically been frying in the desert forever with nothing but bugs to play with. Sure, all that sun can make for a great tan but too much can rot your brain. Just like too many vegetables. Here’s a live lesson for you. If someone like me.. Well, there’s really no one like me but I mean a Sin’dorei tells you something you should just listen. We’ve been around for a billion years, maybe longer. We’ve seen everything, tried everything, are smarter than most, better looking than most and basically just better at everything.”

He leaned down to look her in the eye and winked.

“And that includes animal husbanding tricks.”

The Vulpera girl’s left eyebrow rose as she took the guy in. Her eyes flicking from his ‘better than you’ expression to the large black bird he had pinned under one arm as he went on. “…You mean life lesson?”

He rolled his eyes again.

“No.. Live lesson. Because you live the lesson, duh.”

She looked to the huge bird again. Intrigued by how it seemed to make eye contact with anyone paying attention, as if pleading for help. It’s eyes were locked onto her, beak parted slightly as it panted from the struggling she had interrupted. She spoke to it, if anything just to get under the guys skin a little.

“Is he always this spectacularly unintelligent and conceited?”

To her surprise, the bird let out a croaky sound as if to answer. The boy’s face lit up and he beamed at her.

“Aaaw, you didn’t have to say that. I am pretty spectacular, aren’t I? You know, you little guys aren’t so bad. I mean, you have that whole cute thing going on, I’m sure that helps.” Giving her another flash of his pearly whites, he reached for the scissors again. Seeing the flash of metal, the bird flew into a fit of struggling again. Pecking, kicking, clawing and doing anything in its power to get out of his iron grip. One enormous wing popped free, causing him to drop the scissors to wrangle it with both hands again. The flaps from just that single wing were enough to knock over a stack of smaller boxes and send dust and debris flying about. “See!?! I have to clip its wings! It’s nuts and it’s gonna fly off before I can get it home to give my wife!”

She squinted and held up a hand against the torrent of dust, watching the scene with mixed feelings. She had traded critters before, plenty of times. What were the odds any of those had ended up in the hands of someone like this? The more the poor thing struggled, it’s eyes pleading with her, the more she felt sick about it. Maybe living things should be off the list going forward.. Unless it was food stuff anyway. Trade, that’s it! She quickly pulled her pack off her back and into her lap, rummaging through her things. “Hey Cinder-eye! What about this? I got something way better than some dusty old unruly bird for your wife. You know they carry parasites, right? Kind of a gross gift if you ask me. But this! This would surely win you some brownie points, buddy.”

With much flair, she pulled an ornate looking scroll case out of her bag and held it up. With tiny practiced movements, she twisted it this way and that. Just enough for the sun to glint off the golden embossed lettering along the side that read Old “Pirate” Map, in fancy scrawl. “You two probably like date nights, right? How about an adventure?! When’s the last time you two went off into the wild blue yonder together and had some fun, eh? I’ll trade you this for that ratty old bird, straight over. No haggling or anything.”

The boy’s eyes were locked on the thing, he and the bird both no longer struggling. After a long moment of staring, he finally blinked and looked to her with suspicion. “Wait… Why would you trade something like that for a bird if you think it sucks so much?”

She blinked, having honestly pegged him for being too dumb to think that far into it. Thinking quickly she looked down at the case, ran a finger over the thick gold (plated) carving on its cap and nodded. “…Yea… Good point. I know a good place for a bird like that is all buuuuut… Yea, I’m not sure it’s worth the fun this might lead to. You’re right, I should pro-“

Before she could finish her sentence he snatched the case out of her hand and shoved the huge raven into her arms.

“Nope!! You said straight over! A deals a deal, no take backsies!” As if expecting her to put up a fight he quickly grabbed up his pack, turned on his heel and rushed off towards his ship. Mumbling something about cute, dumb Vulpera idiots..

She watched with a smirk as the guy walked off with her most worthless item. Sure, he might get a little money for the case. But the map itself was just directions to some rundown tavern her and her buds made as a joke one night. “Dumbass…”

It was then she realized she was still holding the bird in her lap, cradled like a toddler. A large toddler.. It was damn near as big as she was but oddly enough, wasn’t struggling. Instead, the two just eyed each other for a long moment, neither moving. Somehow the look in it’s eyes as it stared back seemed.. thankful? She carefully slid off the crate she had been sitting on and set the creature down.

“Uuuh, there you go bird. You’re welcome.”

The thing flicked out its wings a little but otherwise just sat there, it’s head tilting left and right as it watched her. She made a shooing motion, suddenly wondering what exactly a bird that size might eat.. Smaller furry creatures maybe? She shuddered, remembering more than one run in with the vulture flocks back in the sands. One large red ear twisted then at the sound of music coming from farther down the docks. She glanced back to the bird and gave an uneasy nod.

“Heh, yeeeea… So, see yu!”

Tossing her pack over her shoulder she quickly trotted off towards the strumming then shoved her way through the crowd of knees and butts to see what was up. A grin crawled across her face as she eyed the strange duo coming to shore.

“What in the sands?!”

Omru looked around, noting that there were just as many oddball races down at the docks as there were Zandalari, maybe even more so. A set of glowing yellow eyes stared down at him from a rotting face, it’s urine colored skin peeling off to reveal white maggots squirming underneath. Gulping, he changed the strumming of his guitar. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fN57L9HcZsQ

“Listen… We don’t need to make a scene here, in fact.. ~Something told me long ago, there’s a calm before the storm and I know! It’s been comin’ for some time.” Giving a confident smile and wink, Omru began to half walk half dance as he continued playing and singing, “When it’s over, so they say.. It’ll rain a sunny day, I know! Shinin’ down like water!”

Tauren, Trolls, Zombies, Orcs, Tortollan and even talking Bears all seemed to nod at him or tap their feet. Well, those who had feet anyways. Regardless of the few who seemed to be enjoying the show, at least half of the crowd had already lost interest, and another quarter just stared at him before running after Ja’ku.

“I wanna kno- OW-FUCK!”

Omru rubbed at his head, a rock having hurled it’s way right between his ears. The small sect of listeners that were less parted, revealed four very tall Zandalari women. Everyone knew that the women were the most fierce fighters of the empire, making up the majority of their guards. Or was that the Naga? Omru squinted his eyes up at them as they approached, towering over him.

“Ey, fox boy. You dun sing on our turf. We be de Bang Drum Gang, de only ones what be allowed te perform on dese docks. So take ya geetar an beat it, befo we beat you.”

As if to emphasize their point, the three drummers standing behind their leader began to bang on their drums, harnessed over their shoulders and down to their waists. Simultaneously they would beat their drums twice, then stomp the ground with their feet. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=onJQ1dpsAF8 The snarling leader sung out in a gruff albeit totally in tune voice, “Foxy be a boy, makin big noise, playin on de docks, gonna be a big Mon some day. Ya got mud on face, ya lil disgrace, dun make us kick ya ass all ova’ de place!”

Wadding up her fists, the three drummers began chanting, “We will, we will, rock you! We will, we will, rock you!”

It was his calling. It was beautiful, it was amazing, it was destiny. Before he could even think, Omru began to shred on his father’s guitar, grinning at the crowd and wiggling his eyebrows. For ten seconds, he was a rock star and all of Dazar’alor was his stage. And then a two toed dirty foot connected with his jaw, sending him and all of his stuff flying through the air to land with a plop in the ocean water below.

The drumming stopped, “Ey, dat weren’t no invitation! We told ya ta scram, Vulpera!”

Grumbling and slightly humiliated, Omru swam back to shore as the Bang Drum Gang continued their song, parading down the docks and further into the city, crowd at their heels. Making his way back onto the wooden walkway, Omru dumped the water out of his guitar. His pack was enchanted to be waterproof, no worries there, but water could certainly warp the wood of his instrument.

“Assholes…”

“Man, you got it in weird with these trolls, buddy. How are you gonna come riding in on the shoulders of one, who’s riding in on freaking sea turtles no less.. then immediately get booted back out to sea by others? You have a rep around here or just bad luck?”

She watched as he tidied his things and fiddled with his now soggy guitar. Moisture damaged instruments wasn’t something she had much personal experience with. Not a lot of risk of that in the sands and she had only recently been venturing out past that to the isles. Her first rescue mission, impromptu as it was, delivering her all the way here to the Zandalari city of Dazar’alor. But.. She had seen people dry out waterlogged driftwood next to a fire so maybe…

“Hey, I got a thing that’ll help dry that out!”

With a wide grin spreading across her ‘of course I have something for that’ expression, she pulled her pack off her shoulder and squatted over it to dig around inside. After a moment, she pulled out a metallic canister about as long as her forearm and held it up triumphantly.

“I traded some goblin guy a ride for this thing. He was desperate to get out of the desert ASAP so was all for the trade when I asked about it. They may be a bit weird, funky looking and kinda suspicious but those guys have the best toys, let me tell you. Cool thing was, the girl with the wagon I set him up with owed me anyway so it was basically free. It’s called a dragon gun, or dragon’s breath gun or something like that. Sounds awesome right? Just uh, hold out that soggy guitar of yours a moment while I fire this thing up. Maybe away from your face, just to be safe. I know it’s small but this’ll be the first time I’m using it and I’m not up for BBQ’d boy.”

She aimed the nozzle at the guitar and fiddled with the little red valve knob, then flicked the two switches on the side up and down. As nothing happened, she repeated the process a few times, trying to maintain her ‘let me show you something amazing’ face. Nothing… Not even a burp of heat..

“Sssssshhhit… That little butthole, no wonder he traded it so willingly, its broke!”

With that, she chucked the thing aside, teeth momentarily bared with a growl of frustration. The metallic -clang- as it hit the stone ground a little ways away echoed off nearby surfaces and a couple heads turned to look. It bounced once then landed again with another clang, this time smacking down on the valve end. Upon impact the nozzle blasted out an enormous cone of fire, the heat of it felt even yards away where they stood. Despite the items diminutive size, had that been aimed at the Vulpera boy and his guitar, it would have engulfed him fully and anyone else standing too close to him…

Eyes wide, the little red vulpera girl just stared as the flames bellowed out for a full ten seconds before cutting off again. Luckily nothing of note and no one had been in front of it. What grass, flowers and small plants had been in its path were now gone. Only a bit of wafting smoke and a wide scorch mark left in its wake. Somewhere between amazed and horrified, she turned back to him. Remembering to close her mouth finally, she cleared her throat and scratched at the back of her head.

“Uh yeah.. Sooo… What, umm, what brings you to the city?”

Saltwater still dripping from his fur, Omru stared at the red Vulpera girl as she began chatting about her stuff. A smile instinctively formed. He hadn’t exactly been welcomed into the city, but almost right away he had found someone who understood him. Someone who got him, someone with stuff.

“You want me to hold my most precious family heirloom out while you blast it with that goblin thingy?” Omru looked from the girl, to his guitar and back again. He then nodded his head, trusting in this stranger fully as he held out the instrument with both hands, “Letterip!”

Anticipation bubbled, coursing from the back of his head down to his shoulders as he gripped his guitar tight. Click. Click-click. Nothing. Omru’s bright orange eyes flickered to the side as he tried to maintain a good natured smile. Sometimes people’s stuff, just wasn’t up to snuff. It happened to the best of Vulpera, right? But should he say something comforting, should he just ignore it like it’s no big deal, should he avert his eyes and pretend he didn’t notice?

“Uh.. You know, I think-”

FWOOSH!

The goblin contraption had been carelessly chunked over shoulder, only to trigger a moment later. Fortunately they were near enough the streets and away from the wooden docks, where the blasts of fire only seemed to damage the greenery. If that had been directed at him, his guitar would have been toast. He would have likely been toast too, even with his depleted sunstone. At the thought of the stone, he stowed the wet guitar away and rummaged about his pack. As much as he collected things, people might expect him to take on hoarder tendencies. Nope. Everything either server a purpose or was just really cool. And everything was organized. It never took him more than a moment to rummage through his pack to find things.

Regardless of how fast he had managed to procure the stone, by the time he was ready to use it, the fire expulsions had ceased. The small grey rock in his hand was cool to the touch, and had darkened carved runes all around it. “I uh.. Was gonna use this, but unnecessary now. It absorbs flames and heat, storing the energy so that you can use it again later. In theory.”

Om placed the stone back in its place, then tossed his knapsack strap back over his shoulder. “I’m actually just here to catch a boat. The Horde, I’m sure you’ve heard of them, come from a tropical paradise with engineered vehicles and super models, whatever those are, in a magical place called Durotar. I was gonna go check it out, meet with a friend there. Buuut, I guess now I need to find a shop that can work guitar repairs. This city is coastal, can’t be the first time something was flung into the ocean, right? What about you?”

Om paused to look around, validating his assumption, “Not many Vulpera here at all. Might be just us and one or two more in the entire city.”

Glad to see the guy wasn't running for the sands or ready to give her a load of crap for the honest mistake of nearly frying him, her attention was drawn to the little stone. Curious, she cocked her head to try and get a better look at it just before he tucked it away again. As he spoke, she turned her attention back to the city around them, nodding.

"Yea, this place is HUGE too. I've been here three days and have only seen the lower section of this one side. Can you imagine building something like this? What if they get sick of the spot? And yea, I've only seen a trio of us waiting on a ride back out and one boy waiting in line for a ship last night. He was all suited up in the hordes red and black too. Like they had recruited him for some big face bashing gig. Honestly he might have looked pretty good if it weren't for the spiked shoulders.. Those just kinda made him look dumb and out of place. Eh, still, I'm sure he'll have some awesome stories when he comes back, though."

She glanced at his guitar then back up at the city steps nearest them, thinking a moment.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing you bumped into me then. I'm one of my family's best pathfinders. I guess you could even say the best now. Well, I mean if my grandma could still get around well and my dad wasn't stuck helping out Last Wind they would be the best but you know how it is.."

She seemed to pause to consider that thought. Shrugging it off just as quickly, she shot him a sideways look and a confident smirk.

"C'mon, I'll find you the place you need, no problem!"

Without waiting for the soggy boy to respond, she turned on her heel and marched for the stairs leading up into the lower merchants area of the city, fully expecting him to follow.

"Like I said, I've only been here three days so it won't exactly be a direct route. Buuuut I know a guy that'll help. He lives here."

Omru fell in line as soon as the help was offered. He didn’t really consider himself biased, but he just naturally felt more trusting of his own kind. This girl who hadn’t even introduced herself yet had almost roasted him like a desert lizard on a pike, yet here he was following her through the sprawling streets of the Zandalari capital.

“Well, they did get the inkling for a change in locale. The sands have plenty of their old homes and temples from thousands of years ago. According to legend, they used to rule the entire world, the first conquistadors of Azeroth. Then there was war with.. Uh, someone. Bugs? I don’t really remember. Point is, they ruled the world, built everywhere, lost it, then the world split in two.. Twice. I dunno if you remember it, but like six years ago or so Zandalar was rumored to be sinking. Lots of shaking, tectonic plates of something-something. I think they fixed that too, the Zandalaris. I’m not exactly a history buff, but I’ve been around a Tortollan or two, you know?”

Bright orange eyes darted from left to right as his black furry ears twitched, listening to the crowds around them. Om’s nostrils flared out in quick little sniffs. This place was a cacophony of sounds, sights and smells. It was a little overwhelming, honestly. Oooh! The fox boy grinned wide as he spotted something magnificent at a corner stall.

“One minute!”

It was a small round mirror, neatly polished. Seeing his own reflection, he had to take the opportunity to primp just a little. It was nothing compared to what the sin’dorei had been doing since their arrival many months before, and so the merchant just shrugged the gesture off. “You buy, Vulpera?”

Hearing the offer, another stall merchant called from across the street, “Ey dere rich mon! Ya tink ya look good now, wait til ya get some’a my wares. Come take a look!”

The first merchant didn’t seem to mind the intrusion at all, “Good idea, bruddah. Listen ‘ere shortie, you buy dis mirror full price an my friend dere will give you a deal.”

In the span of fifteen minutes, Omru had traded in a dozen trinkets, knick knacks and old coins. In return he had the silver zandalari mirror, and a full set of horde themed leather armor. Rushing back to his new Vulpera friend’s side, he did a little spin in his new hooded attire, “This is an authentic Horde militia armor, fitted for goblins. It’s a little snug in the buttocks, but the Zandalari back there is a leather worker and made room for my tail. Way better than what I had been carrying around. We should see if they have any enchantments, never know when you’ll need to get revenge on a Drummer girl for kicking you into the ocean, you know? Ha, just kidding.”

It then dawned on Om that the two of them hadn’t even made proper acquaintances yet. “Oh, sorry, the city’s so big and distracting I almost forgot. I’m Omru, by the way. And you?”

Nohko leaned against the carved stone archway that marked the entry to that section of vendors, waiting patiently for the boy to eyeball whatever he was after. Lifting a large claw that dangled from a strap of leather around her neck, one of many such adornments, she used the thing to clean under her fingernails. Suddenly, a loud rather juicy sounding splat on the ground next to her made her jump and dodge away from whatever it was.

“SHIT! FU-“

Her startled cursing halted and a look of confusion set in as she registered what she was looking at. A half rotted fish carcass that had splattered into a sloppy mess on impact next to her. Brows furrowing, she looked up to see where it had fallen from. There, sitting high up on the arch was the huge black bird. It’s head was cocked to the side, one dark eye staring in her direction. Were such a thing common here she would have simply dismissed it. Some feathered sky rat turd who can't keep a handle on their lunch. But birds didn’t come in solid, shiny black like that around here. None she had ever seen anyway. The closest thing were the darker colored vultures back in the sands but most around here were bright blues, reds and greens. So what, was it following her? Attempting to bomb her with rotten fish? What the sands, all she had done was help! She narrowed her eyes at the thing, pondering for the briefest moment reaching for the tiny hand crossbow she kept tied to her pack. Naaa, why save it just to-

“…never know when you’ll need to get revenge on a Drummer girl for kicking you into the ocean, you know? Ha, just kidding.”

The thought was interrupted as she realized the Vulpera boy was back and had apparently been trying to show her his new stuff. She turned her attention back to him and eyed the outfit up and down, offering a smile.

“Heeeey, nice getup. Wait, you didn’t go get that just because I said that other guy looked awesome in it, right? Not that you don’t look good. Better in some ways even, since you didn’t go with the dumb oversized shoulders he had. He was super ripped though so could probably have made an old barrel look good.. Anyway, yeah sorry, Noh, nice to meet you Omru.”

She stuck out a hand to shake. The bright red of her fur darkened into a deep purplish color from wrist to fingertip. Rings decorated just about every finger, some sporting more than one. Some were typical looking while others appeared crafted from miscellaneous things she had apparently liked enough to turn into jewelry. Her wrist was likewise covered in jewelry and trinkets. From solid, etched metal cuffs to tiny hand carved scrimshaw dangling on loose chains or straps to braided.. hair? Was that hair? ..well some kind of braided organic, -hair like- material with bits of glass and such woven in..

“Oh, you -were- just talking about another vulpera in Horde armor, huh? Nah, I got this because that Troll was a good salesman, honestly. I mean, he had me pegged for an explorer and adventurer, someone who risks his life for great treasure. Read me like a book, told me my armor was scuffed and in need of repairs. I had a lot of stuff on me reserved for trading anyways, plus I dig the black and red. Maybe that other guy wasn’t exactly affiliated with the Horde either. Mayhap they just talked him into upgrading his armor like they did me. I’m not a big fan of the skull and bones aesthetics, though. Cultural thing, I’m sure. Proud of their kills, wear it as jewelry or something. I dunno.”

Omru snatched the extended hand, giving it a squeeze and a shake as proper etiquette called for. He himself had a single black ring on his left index finger. It didn’t really have a meaning or purpose, and in fact it blended in with his fur, so it wasn’t very noticeable. Still, he liked it and that was all that mattered. In the little three second handshake, his fingers had felt the rigid bands on Noh’s fingers and the clatter of her wrist ornaments was audible. “Whoa, cool. You gotta lotta jingly jangles, as my Uncle calls them. Where’d ya get’em?”

Continuing through the city, Om looked around from shop to shop. The streets weren’t packed, but the architecture and pathway spacing certainly felt designed for such high foot traffic. In more than a few places there were still crimson smears being scrubbed away by Zandalari trolls dressed in rags. Blood? How long ago had the city been sacked? A few months, right? He wasn’t really one to keep a calendar nor an appointment. Everything he had ever signed up for, he had been late. So why disappoint people when he could just commit himself to being obligation free. Heh. Despite the sparse customers, the shops still lined the streets, merchants seeming to outnumber clientele for the time being.

“Imagine what this place was like before the Alliance attacked it. They said they lost thousands, including the King. Mm. I’ve heard tales of them burning our wagons down for even being friendly with the Horde. Haven’t met any besides a few drunks, but so far they all sound like total scum. I hope the Zandalari wipe them out.”

#WRA RP #wrarp #Warcraft Roleplay #warcraft #vulpera

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bloodshrike-helene · 7 years

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To Fall in Love with a Lion || Morrigan/Andromache

Summary: I decided to write the story of Mor/Andromache and my own version of the timeline during the First War. I’m here for this ship. Here for Mor’s history, and I’m going to give it the love it deserves.

Rating: M

Pairing: Morrigan/Andromache

Word Count:

Chapter: 1/?

AO3 link: Here

A/N: All characters and the Universe belong to Sarah J. Maas, not me.

When the Night Court had extended their alliance to the Mortal lands, they could have never been certain of the outcome. Despite having already helped human soldiers on the front lines, there was no guarantee that the Mortal Queens would accept their offer for an alliance in the name of peace. The humans had every right to be wary of Fae. Yet almost three weeks after they had sent their proposal, they had received an invitation to palace of the Queens, to negotiate the terms of the alliance and how best to bring about the end of this war.

It hadn't been an easy decision when evaluating who to send. Ideally, Rhysand would have gone, but with the man leading legions in the name of his father, he wasn't an option, nor were Cassian and Azriel.

In fact, Morrigan had been a last option. A disgraced, outcast of the Hewn City wasn't ideal, not by the High Lords standards, or by many of the higher ups within the Court, particularly her father, who was even more repulsed by the notion of his disowned daughter striking an alliance with humans none the less. Yet a few compelling letters from Rhysand and it was decided that she was worthy of being the emissary they needed.

Already, Mor had shed blood on the field of battle, but she was just as lethal with her words and her gift of truth.

That was how she ended up here. In the shiny, marble hall of the Mortal Queens palace. An escort made up of a solid fifty men and woman with her. It was the most that they could afford to spare with battles raging across Prythian. Yet it was still a show of strength, even if this was a mission of peace.

While those behind her were dressed in scrubbed leathers, various blades and weapons strapped to their bodies, Morrigan was every bit the emissary of the Night Court. The skirts of her purple dressed swept over the floor, loose around her legs and hips, coming to hug over her breasts and tie in a knot at her neck. Detail was embroidered on in golden thread, and the entirety of her back was exposed. The golden curls had been swept into a delicate up-do, highlighting the points of her ears and a heavy moonstone seemed to glow on a chain at her neck. The only piece of home she carried with her.

On six separate thrones, sat the Mortal Queens. Varying ages, different in appearance, yet all of them looked to her with scrutiny in their eyes. The way she was, carrying herself in front of a miniature army, dressed in fashion that was vulgar by their standards, and above all else, a Fae, Mor had to focus on not squirming. She would not show weakness.

“My ladies,” Mor swept into a low curtsy, her soft chiffon skirts elegantly shifting around her. “Thank you, for inviting into your home, and considering the alliance we have offered you,” As she spoke, she straightened, lifting her gaze and meeting the eyes of each of them, one after the other.

“The Morrigan,” The one in the middle spoke; the eldest, she presumed. “We too appreciate your swift arrival, and the gesture offered by your court. We look forward to discussing terms of this Treaty with you and ending this war.”

It sounded like the script of a play, written down and rehearsed, and maybe it was the tight tone in the middle Queens voice, but Mor had trouble believe she was pleased to have them here. Desperate times, desperate measures.

“Tomorrow,” It wasn't the middle queen that spoke this time, but one of the Queens on the end. She looked smaller somehow. Younger. The Queen to her left shot her a look that read of her displeasure at the woman speaking out. Mor's gaze lingered on her. A mane of golden hair framed her dark face, where amber eyes were framed by thick lashes. The panes of her face were fresh with youth, and peppered with freckles. A lion in a kitten's clothing. That was the thought that went through her mind. There was something about her. The way those amber eyes lingered on her. Unfaltering. Daring. It made Mor pause.

“Yes, tomorrow,” It was the middle Queen again. “For now, let your people eat and rest. They have quarters prepared in the barracks. You yourself have a room within the North Tower.”

“You have my gratitude,” Two sentries would remain with her, on guard outside her door at all times. Not that Morrigan needed it, but it would be at insistence of her soldiers. And Rhysand if he found out that she refused a standing guard.

“We would appreciate if you join us for the evening meal,” Again, that amber eyed Queen spoke, and Mor once again was struck by the notion that the invitation wasn't pre-planned.

“Thank you. I will, of course,” Mor gave a respectful bow of her head, offering a smile to the Queens, and when her eyes met those of the golden Queen, she found a grin shown in return. One which made her skin heat slightly before she quickly remembered herself, turning and sweeping out of the hall without another look, her people following after her.

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Morrigan did indeed share supper that night with the Queens. Conversation was tense, and dry, except for with the young Queen whose name she learned was Andromache. The woman was curious, and still seemed entirely comfortable, regardless of the presence of the Fae.

The food was bland and the wine dull. She forgot how boring mortal cuisine was. Yet she kept that disguised with a polite smile. Hungry enough that she would eat anything on her plate. The rest of the Night Court members were eating in the barracks, which were equipped to hold the numbers.

It was strange. Being on a diplomatic trip without one other member of the Inner Circle. No Rhys, no Cassian. No Azriel. It was a little unnerving. Knowing everything rested on her shoulders when it came to these Queens and the Treaty they needed to try and forge.

So she kept her head up, a polite smile on her lips. Mor eat every crumb, drank every drop of wine that was placed in her cup, and when the night came to a close, she politely thanked the Queens before leaving, finding the burning amber eyes of the golden Queen followed her from the room.

Tonight had been a test.

A silent question from both parties if there could be a common ground. If a Fae could be trusted in the Mortal lands.

Tomorrow, the real work began. The terms of the alliance would be drawn up. The outline of a Treaty worked and the human army would be briefed by both her and and her soldiers. The Fae would come, with Hybern on their heels, there was no question, and they had a lot to do before this war was over. Before peace found both their lands.

Mor would work for it. Do whatever she could to save these humans.

She could only hope the Mortal Queens would do the same.

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If the Queens had been scandalised by her dress the day before, they were on the verge of dying from shock when Morrigan arrived to the map room that morning in Illyrian fighting leathers.

That morning, she'd eaten breakfast with those in the barracks, briefing her men who were to train until she returned following her first official meeting with the Queens. The humans were trained yes, but Mor was to offer her soldiers skills and further heighten those of the Mortals.

“What are you wearing?” It was Celeste that spoke, a tone of horror in her voice. She was the third eldest queen. Her hair fell in brown waves that cascaded down her back, smart blue eyes looked her up and down, reminding Mor briefly of the oceans in Adriata. When this was done and this war was won, maybe she would visit the Summer Court again.

“They're fighting leathers. I intend to train this afternoon,” Mor merely shrugged, taking a seat at the round table, casting a glance to the marked maps laid out in front of them.

“With the men?” Celeste again croaked, looking even more horrified.

“Well, there are woman too,” Fewer, but the Night Court had taken anyone with the skill to wield a blade. If only they refused to clip the wings of their women, then they'd have aerial females too.

One battle at a time.

Amber eyes were on her again, lacking the same disgust and horror of the others. Instead there was fascination. The lion Queen seemed intrigued by the sculpted armour, the pants, the tight braid Mor had woven her hair into and the weapons at her belt. Of course they wouldn't be used to seeing a woman like this. The humans had refused to let woman into their armies. It was ridiculous, but she dared not push the Mortals.

Andromache looked like she had a thousand things she wanted to say, but a look from that eldest Queen and she ducked her head.

Perhaps a warning had been issued after yesterday.

Mor found a smile teasing her lips, before she pulled papers and maps of her own from the stack within the pack she'd brought. They had much to discuss.

They talked, debated, discussed and planned until early afternoon, breaking for lunch and once fed, Morrigan returned to her men, who had settled into training again after their own pause for food and water.

And as she threw herself into training, a sword in her hand, the Fae lady could have sworn she caught a glimmer of a golden Queen from a high up balcony, watching as Mor held her own against the men who circled. A soldier herself as much as an emissary.

A protector if these meetings went well.

A deadly enemy if they did not.

#morrigan #morrigan x andromache #Andromache #acowar #a court of wings and ruin

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